


Hit Me With Your Best Shot

by PerhapsTheWind



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020), Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Bisexual Harleen Quinzel, F/F, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, bisexual reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:02:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerhapsTheWind/pseuds/PerhapsTheWind
Summary: or,The one in which you fall for the Princess of Crime.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Reader, Harleen Quinzel & Reader, Harleen Quinzel/Reader, Minor Barbara Gordon/Tim Drake
Comments: 173
Kudos: 479





	1. It Begins With An End

You swirled your wine and looked at your watch with a sigh. 

He was 20 minutes late now. The waiter came over with a sympathetic smile. 

“More wine, darling?” He had a baby face. If it weren’t for the mustache and the trendy plastic glasses adorning his face, he would’ve passed for a teenager. 

Your cheek rested on your palm, looking miserable and defeated. 

_ Pathetic.  _

You took the last piece of bread, and ripped off a chunk with your teeth. You checked your phone. 20% battery, and no missed messages. 

With only wine and bread in your stomach, the buzz was becoming more prominent. It settled into a tingle on your scalp and hands. 

You flagged down the waiter and asked for the bill. You asked to take the rest of the wine to go. He brought you the check, and you signed it. 

You went home to your apartment and kicked off your sensible high heels. You drank down more of the wine without a glass. 

If practical and utilitarian had an issue in Home and Garden magazine, your apartment would’ve been the centerfold. Everything had its proper place and was smartly color coordinated. With how little time you spent here, the space had nary a sign of life other than your presence. Your apartment could’ve been a model home. 

But you liked it that way. In Gotham City, the things you loved could so quickly and so easily be taken from you. Best not to get attached. 

Your stomach sank slowly at the thought. Disappointment was another good reason to not get attached. 

You went up to your whiteboard and added a blue tally. You were at five tallies. 

As if on cue, you heard a knock at your door. You pinched the bridge of your nose and huffed as you got to your feet. 

You opened the door, and standing on your doorstep was an apologetic Dick Grayson. 

“I am so sorry, babe.”

“I know.” It was a resigned response. But it was absolutely true. You knew he felt sorry. But there did not seem to be any sense of action with his apologies. You motioned him into your living room. 

He dragged an exasperated hand down his face. “Please, let me make it up to you.” 

“I don’t think so, Dick.” 

He looked shocked. “Wait, what do you mean?” 

You couldn’t quite meet his eyes. You knew those icy blues had the power to melt steel. Your resolve was little more than aluminum foil. 

“I don’t think there’s anymore making up for it. I think this relationship has run its course.”

“Are you serious?” He sounded irritated and in disbelief. “Because I forgot  _ one date _ ?” 

You felt a small ember of anger light up in your stomach before pointing a shaky finger at your whiteboard with the blue tallies. “Five times, Dick!  _ Five _ !” 

“What you’re keeping track of the times I disappoint you? Seems a little juvenile, don’t you think?” 

“It’s the number of times in the last month you’ve forgotten our dates. Including when you want to ‘make it up to me’.” You put the last words in air quotes. 

It seemed to dawn on him how shitty that was. But it was too late. He was quiet, pensive. His posture, usually stick straight, slumped at the shoulders.

“I like you, Dick. I need effort though. Relationships go both ways.” 

“You’re right.” The room was silent for a long while, the only sound being the noisy refrigerator. “I really am sorry, babe. I’ll... see you around, okay?” 

You started to feel the finality of it bubble up. Tears started welling in your eyes, and you looked away to make sure he couldn’t see. “Yeah.”

He left, closing the door without a sound behind him. The dam burst. You crumpled on the couch and cried for a while, sniffing and wiping away the tears with the hem of your dress. 

You sat like that long enough for the sun to set on Gotham City. 

The tears began to subside suddenly, and you stared at your ceiling. 

You needed to blow off some steam. 

*****

There was something keenly empowering about wearing a cape and a mask.

It was almost as if the city sensed your distress and decided to give you a break this evening. Gotham was quiet tonight. 

Gotham was  _ so quiet _ in fact, that you were the only one on patrol tonight. 

It helped you to imagine Gotham as if it were some ancient, eternal hellbeast. It fed on the suffering and the filth of the city, and belched out victims and the dead in its wake. 

Yet, you loved it. You wouldn’t be out on patrol if you didn’t. You could see the effects you had. People started to hide less, and would come outside and take part in this beautiful city. Mother’s let their daughters walk alone, on the insistence they carried pepper spray. Kids could play basketball in the alley, but their curfew was set before dark. Old ladies could carry groceries, as long as they were accompanied. 

It was a start. 

The sky was clear tonight. Your feet danced from rooftop to rooftop. Your cape fluttered in the wind, and the “R” on your chest appeared brighter from the city lights. The comms were clear. Babs probably heard about the breakup and figured leaving you alone tonight was a good idea. 

And she was right, but the awkwardness of the silence felt difficult to ignore. 

Your feet touched down by Gotham City Harbor; the ocean filled your nostrils with the smell of salt and dampened grime. 

There was a strange comfort to the harbor. The only sound was the lapping of the water against the wood of the pier, and the creak of metal from the swaying boats. The birds had long gone to rest. 

You decided to walk to the end of the pier. Despite the levity of your feet, each footstep let out an audible creak. You came to its end and plopped down on the edge, taking a deep inhale of the sea air. 

Maybe you just couldn’t find love. That’s the nature of this job. You hoped it wasn’t true. 

_ Was there a single person in the Batfamily with a successful relationship?  _

Tim and Babs seemed happy. Though, they both had an extreme amount of emotional intelligence and frequent couple’s counseling. 

Bruce,  _ nope _ . 

Dick,  _ clearly not _ , as seen today. 

Jason,  _ definitely not _ . 

Welp. The odds didn’t seem to be in your favor. But then again it wasn’t like you were desperate for love. 

It would just be nice to know if it was even  _ possible _ . 

A sudden figure dropped next to you. 

You looked over, and did a double take. 

Bleach blonde hair tied into pigtails, dip dyed pink and blue. Shorts over fishnets over pale tattooed legs. Pink crop top. “Rotten” tattooed across her jaw, and a heart below her right eye. 

“Heya Birdie.” She was holding a margarita and sipping it through a tiny straw, making brief eye contact with you. 

Your voice came out sounding pointed. “Hello Harley.” You were immediately on edge, but equally curious. She wasn’t putting on theatrics, and it seemed out of character for her, based off everything you knew of her. You heard that she and the Joker broke up a while ago, but it was strange to see her act so casual. 

It was  _ stranger still _ to see her without her former beau. 

“Why’re you by your lonesome?” She asked turning to you, sitting cross-legged, devoting her full attention to you. 

“I could ask you the same.” 

“I’m doing the solo thing now. Puddin’ and I broke up, didn’t ya hear?” 

Your personal vendetta against the Joker briefly creeped up in your mind, but you shoved it back down. That had  _ nothing _ to do with her. 

“I did hear that.” 

“You sound so robotic.” Another sip of her green margarita, and she squinted at you. “I don’t bite.”

You expected her to add “hard” to the end of the sentence, in her classic flirty fashion. But she didn’t. She continued sizing you up.

You didn’t respond. You weren’t sure what to make of her presence, but it didn’t feel threatening. 

She seemed…  _ lonely _ ?

“You didn’t answer me. Why’re you all by yourself? Where’s B-Man and the rest of them?” 

“They’re around.” 

“ _ Oooh _ , so  _ vague _ and  _ mysterious _ .” She laughed in a mocking way that lacked maliciousness. “Fine, keep your secrets.” She dismissed you with a wave. She stood and tossed the empty margarita glass over her shoulder. The shattering against the damp boards broke the silence in the air. 

“See you around, Birdie.” She gave you a wink before skipping off into the night.


	2. Death and Distractions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so excited by the response on the first chapter of this story! I really enjoy writing these characters, and I hope you continue to enjoy it too! 
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Body horror and death.

You were getting suited up for the evening, the Batcave echoed with the sounds of Bruce clacking away at his keyboard. His giant collection of monitors graced him in a fluorescent glow that made him look pale and lifeless. 

You were the first to break the silence, clipping your grappling gun to your hip. “Only us tonight?” 

Bruce replied. “Yes.” 

You smiled a little. “Just like old times, eh?” 

He grunted in response. You couldn’t help but let out a quiet sigh. You were the most recent in a long line of former Robins. You resigned to the fact that your  _ role _ was not special or unique, your  _ story _ was not special or unique, and your  _ fighting style _ was not special or unique. 

_ You _ were not special or unique. 

Despite you knowing this, it still stung. 

“I’m ready to go whenever you are.” You fiddled with the R on your chest. No matter how often you wore this outfit, it felt like an honor bestowed upon you. 

He stood up, his cape swishing behind him as he turned around. “Let’s go.” 

In the Batmobile you went to the Bowery. It was unimpressive during the day, a commercial district speckled with tenements. But at night it transformed into a completely different town. Gang activity, random acts of violence, dastardly deeds, all of it was home in the Bowery. 

You arrived and the Batmobile crawled to a stop, the engine whirring off and falling silent. You both exited the vehicle and took to the rooftops. It felt freeing, jumping from building to building, the wind whipping through your cape and your hair. It felt much less freeing when Batman was there. With him, patrol was a duty, a responsibility. There was no room for enjoyment. You didn’t blame him for his stoicism, but you were beginning to prefer when you could patrol with Tim, or even Dick. 

_ Or by yourself.  _

Babs’ voice filled your left ear. “Guys, GCPD sent word of a body found North of Crime Alley. I’m dropping the pin on your map.” 

“Thank Babs!” You called into the microphone. 

“Be careful out there, you guys.” 

Your HUD lit up in the corner of your vision and showed your destination. You and Batman, as if in synchronization, changed paths. You retraced your steps and leaped across the gaps, your feet a whisper on the roofs. 

Then you landed over Crown Point, the epicenter of the Bowery. If Gotham were a beast, Crown Point was its broken, diseased heart. Even Commissioner Gordon, who rid the GCPD of corruption and turned the city around, turned his back on Crown Point. 

It was a lawless, criminal hole. 

It was a shame, really. Where crime was most prevalent and the most vulnerable collided, there was no solace. 

Except for you and your found family. But even with your vigilantism, you couldn’t save them all. 

You and Batman scanned the pavement below and saw a crumpled body surrounded by police officers. 

They looked alarmed and that worried you. The GCPD saw some of the worst there was. You both fell with grace to the alley below, and the officers turned to you with surprise. When they realized it was Batman and Robin, their faces fell into relief. 

Commissioner Gordon turned and strode over to you both, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, his tie loosened. Frazzled, he seemed. 

_ Oh, this isn’t a good sign.  _

He reached out to shake Batman’s hand, then yours. “You’re going to want to see this.” He motioned for the two of you to come closer. 

The sight made you wince from inside your mask, but your mouth stayed fixed in a fine line. 

A man laid on his side, his hands rigid and clenched around his stomach. His skin was pale and dust-like in complexion. His staring eyes bulged from their socket, bloodshot and unseeing. 

The part that stuck with you, the part that haunted you and always would, was  _ the smile. _

The man’s dry, cracked lips folded back, revealing teeth like tombstones on a bed of pallid gums. The smile was so prominent that it created deep folds into the man’s cheeks, and made his bulging eyes squint from the strain against his skin. 

It seemed humanly impossible for a face to contort in such a grotesque fashion, and yet you saw it in front of you.

And it wasn’t the first time. 

_ You knew he’d return.  _

You crept closer to the man, crouching close to his body for examination. You turned your head to the side, meeting his lifeless eyes. 

And you felt a warm puff of air. 

The laughing started low, like a motorcycle engine sputtering to life. It crescendoed into shrill hysterics, the man writhing and clutching his stomach so hard you thought he may rip it from his skin. Tears streamed down his cheeks, hitting the concrete below. 

And then, just as suddenly as he started, he went limp. 

_ A death rattle.  _

You didn’t realize you’d pressed yourself against the brick wall behind you. Your heart beat like war drums. 

“Robin.” Batman called to you. It broke you out of your daze. The officers huddled behind the sheriff’s car and held shaky guns aimed at the dead man. 

You rejoined him. Your voice was plain and confident, contrasting the scattered nerves you felt. “This is no copycat.” 

****

You arrived alone. Batman split off to perform some chemical analysis of Paul Kirby’s blood. He was not quite so certain that you were correct about it being truly the Joker’s toxin. 

But  _ you _ had a feeling. 

Paul Kirby. 35. Married. Father of two. Nurse. He played for a charity soccer league on Saturdays, and  _ adored _ his corgi Jessie. 

The most likeable, harmless man in the world was murdered by Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime, and you couldn’t place why. 

_ He murdered people you love too.  _

You clenched your fists and put those thoughts in a small box and shoved it to the back of your mind. You had a job to do. 

Social media can provide a wealth of knowledge about anyone. LinkedIn showed you that he worked at Arkham Asylum for 6 months in 2014. 

Good for him, there are few who could stand such a vile place. You had to imagine 6 months felt like a lifetime. 

But there was someone else who worked there around that time. 

She was drunkenly singing “Criminal” by Fiona Apple on karaoke 6 blocks away from the scene of the crime. Even with the lyrics right on the screen she messed up the words. 

Harley finished her song and downed her drink. She raised the empty glass in celebration. Then she saw you in the window. 

She tried to wave you into the bar, but you knew you weren’t particularly welcomed on this side of town. You shook your head and stayed where you were. 

She rolled her eyes before stumbling out onto the street with you. “Birdie babe!”

“Hello again, Harley.” You couldn’t help but let the faintest smile creep to your lips. 

But even that alone made your stomach turn, thinking of that man’s eternal, horrific grin. Your smile slipped away. 

“Want to come in for a drink?” She seemed completely unconcerned with your Robin attire and how you would stick out in this rundown karaoke bar. 

“No thank you. I’m here on business.” You pulled out your phone and showed her a picture of Paul Kirby. He and his kids were posing in front of a corgi wearing a comically large bow. “Do you know this man?”

“Oh my god look at that  _ dog _ !” She squealed and jumped up and down. “Oh I  _ want it.”  _ Her voice sounded genuinely pleading as if she would reach through the picture and pluck out the canine. 

“Harley, please.” You pointed at the man. His features reminded you of every male lead in  _ Lifetime  _ Christmas movies. “This man. Do you know him?” 

She stroked her chin and looked off into the distance, feigning an attempt to pull up her memories. “I dunno. Maybe I’ll have more information to offer if you come back to my place.”

_ Are you fucking kidding me?  _

You figured if you gave her some context, maybe she’d talk like a reasonable person. “He was just murdered blocks from here. Potentially by  _ your ex _ . This is important.”

She appeared unphased by this tidbit of information. “Hm, I dunno Birdbrain.” She shrugged, her shoulders scrunching up to her ears. “Maybe it’ll come back to me if you come back to my place.” She smiled and offered you a wink. 

_ Insufferable. _

You took a deep and calming breath. “Fine.”

She cheered, jumping up and down before she grabbed your wrist, dragging you down the street with elation, like a kid going to Build-A-Bear for the first time. 

“Oh Birdie you’re gonna love it! We can eat cereal and paint nails and watch cartoons!”

“Harley, someone was just murdered. Did you not hear me?”

She waved it off. “Yeah, yeah. But Fruit Loops!” 

_ Fruit Loops indeed,  _ you thought, watching this madwoman pull you through the neighborhood. 

You both stopped in front of Joy Garden Restaurant. It was empty currently, the only illumination coming from the backlit menu over the counter. 

She slid a key through the lock, and hurried you in, locking the door behind you. Her grins and occasional giggles reminded you of a teenage girl sneaking in her boyfriend. 

She lead you up the rickety stairs and into her tiny one bedroom apartment. The kind of mind that lived here became evident when you looked at the decorations. There were books scattered everywhere in various stages of completion, based off the bookmarks sticking out of it. A crude drawing of the Joker was pinned crookedly on the wall with targets circles surrounding it. Various types of knives stuck out of it, including a butter knife that looked forcefully stabbed in the wall repeatedly. 

_ I feel you there, Harley.  _

Taxidermy animals adorned every surface, some poorly made. One live animal made its home here, sitting in an oversized cardboard box. 

A hyena. 

You froze. He growled until Harley went over and gave him chin scratches. 

“Oh no, Birdie don’t worry about him. That’s just Brucie.”

“ _ Brucie _ ?”

“Yeah, like that hunk Bruce Wayne, the one on the billboards?” 

_ If only she knew.  _

“Right.” 

“Isn’t he a  _ sweetie _ ?” Her voice was high pitched and animated, like she was talking about a toddler.  _ Brucie  _ began licking and gnawing on a large bone with bits of red meat still stretched across it. 

If you were being honest, Bruce the hyena was a pretty cute creature. You could think of no better exotic animal for Harley that fit her eccentricities. 

You imagined  _ human  _ Bruce chastising you if you doted over the Hyena, instead of focusing on an investigation. You sighed. 

Your voice remained flat. “Sure.” You replied. She frowned. You pulled up the picture of the victim once more. “So, what do you know about him?”

She stood up, twirling one of her pigtails around her finger. It was obvious she was playing coy. “See, I’m having a hard time remembering.” 

You crossed your arms and were beginning to feel like a schoolteacher, scolding an unruly student. “Harley, you said you’d tell me if I came back here.” 

“Yeah, I know what I said, Birdbrain.” She rolled her eyes. “But I kind of like you. If I tell you, you’ll just run off.” 

You couldn’t help but feel a little flattered, but you didn’t respond. She resumed scratching the hyena’s tufted head. 

“I’ll tell you what. If you give me just  _ one  _ kiss, I’ll tell you  _ everything _ .” She held up her pointer finger for emphasis. 

You replayed her words in your head to make sure you heard her correctly. “No.” 

“What?  _ Really _ ?”

“No.” 

You’d be lying if you said the thought didn’t pass your mind. But this is  _ Harley Quinn.  _ How many people has she killed or maimed for her ex? She is a criminal. A criminal with homicidal and unpredictable tendencies. She could still be in contact with the Joker as you spoke. 

The thought sent a chill up your back. 

Intuition told you that wasn’t the case. She did not seem to have an agenda other than unrelenting flirtation and curiosity when it came to you. 

_ But what if?  _

It would be best to find the information you needed on your own. 

You believed people had the capacity to change. Even Bruce believed that. You were fine with Harley being a criminal informant, but a kiss crossed the line. 

Harley went from flabbergasted to dismissive. “Fine, you know where to find me if you change your mind, Birdie.” 

You turned away and peaked behind your shoulder. She looked pouty, arms crossed with a huff. 

“Goodnight Harley.” 

You smirked and left, closing the door without a sound behind you. 

As you hit the street, you received a text. 

**Dick:** Hey, can we meet up for coffee tomorrow? I’d really like to talk to you. 


	3. The Rain and the Mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This may be the fastest I have ever put out chapters in any of my fanfictions! I really enjoy writing it and I appreciate your feedback and the comments you've been leaving. <3 
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Death

You held your caramel macchiato in both hands, staring across the table at Dick. Sipping on your coffee gave you something to do with your hands, making you feel less nervous. 

He was on time today. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous tick of his that you always adored. He avoided eye contact with you, opting instead to look out the window. Customers swamped the coffeeshop, leaving no seats open inside. They began settling for benches and outside tables. Signs of rain in the sky told you that it wasn’t a bright idea. 

“Thank you for meeting up with me.” He finally relaxed, leaning forward. “Firstly, with everything going on, are you doing okay?” 

You took a deep breath, and looked down at the lipstick stains around the rim of your coffee cup and smeared it with your fingers. You sat the mug in front of you, the tendrils of steam wafting up and disappearing. “Yeah. I’m doing okay.” 

_The feeling of falling through the air, the ground closing in. Milky eyes and the empty stare of someone you loved. Shrill, panicked screams and manic laughter. The wet smack of bodies on damp pavement._

You winced, then collected the memories into that little imaginary wooden box in the back of your brain and shoved them away. 

Dick reached across the table and held your hand. It was a sweet gesture that you didn’t rebuff. “I’m here for you, you know.” 

“I know.” You patted his hand and let it rest there. You sat in silence and looked into his icy blue eyes. 

_A mistake._

He spoke as if his words were slipping out of him, too fast to catch. “I feel like I fucked up, babe. I sincerely want to make this right. I love us together. It feels like we really work, and I don’t want to lose that.” 

You felt your resolve breaking. You pulled away in an attempt to put it back together. You didn’t know what to do with your hands. So you held your cup again, looking down into the coffee as if it held the answers. 

The end of the relationship shouldn’t be the reason he decided to change. 

Your voice was soft. “I’m sorry, Dick.” There was nothing else to be said. You felt like you were closing the book on this relationship, and it gave you a sense of longing, but it also felt right. 

He leaned back in his chair and sighed, ruffling his hand through his hair. He didn’t speak for a long time. You could feel his gaze burrow into yours, but you didn’t look up.

But you sincerely didn’t want to disappoint him. 

“Look at me, please.” 

You tore your eyes away from your now lukewarm coffee and met his eyes. Yours were starting to well up with traitorous tears. 

His features looked kind and gentle; you could see no resentment or anger there. He offered you a half-smile. “No need for that.” He reached over with a soft hand and thumbed away one of your tears. “Look, I’m not mad at you. If anything, I’m mad at myself. I need you to know that regardless of our relationship status, I still care about you. That’s not changing, I promise.” He held out a pinky. 

You held out yours, and the promise was made. 

He sighed and stood. “I’ll see you on the flipside.” 

You waved, then wiped the last tear from your eye as he left. 

You decided to stick around, the sound of pedestrians and coffee patrons drowning out your bustling mind. 

You reached into your bag and decided to pull out a book, “Pale Blue Dot” by Carl Sagan, lent to you by Tim.

_“Are you serious? You have to read it! It’s beautiful and terrifying and hopeful all at once. Read. it.” He shoved it into your arms, the binding a bit tattered and it’s pages worn._

Two pages past your bookmark and the bell over the front door jingled, and someone familiar stepped in. 

It was Harley Quinn, except not like you’d ever seen her. She wore her hair in a tiny, messy braid, the pink and blue intertwining, and brushing the nape of her neck. She wore thick-framed black glasses, the same crop top you saw her wear the first night you met her, skinny leather pants, and a denim jacket. 

She was “daytime, hide-among-the-masses, drink-coffee-in-peace” Harley Quinn. 

Over the ambient noise in the crowd, you could hear her distinctive singsong voice. “Caramel mocha frappe, please! Oh, and extra whipped cream. Thanks, doll!” 

She paid with crumpled dollar bills that were stuffed in the side of her calf-high boots. She looked around the shop with a frown at the lack of open seats. 

“Hey, hun!” She waved at you and put her hands on your table. “Can I sit with you? There aren’t any open tables.” 

You were not going to let on that you knew her. “Sure, absolutely.” You scooted your things around to make space for her, pretending like any other ordinary stranger who does not dress up and fight crime at night, _of course._

She sat down, and a barista came behind her with her drink, piled high with whipped cream. Harley rubbed her hands together excitedly. “Oh, thank you so much!” She ogled it as if the coffee was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She took a sip through the paper straw, and a dot of whipped cream ended up on her nose. 

She pulled out her own book: “Why Does He Do That?: Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men” by Lundy Rancroft. She held it in front of her glass, drinking as her eyes darted from line to line. 

And you couldn’t help but smile a little. _Good for her._

“Hey,” you said quietly. “You got some whipped cream on your nose.” 

Her face lit up with a grin, and she giggled, swiping it and licking it off her finger. “Thanks, hun.” 

You noticed her looking over her book at you. She’d covered the tattoos on her face with foundation, but you could barely see “rotten” peeking through on her jaw. 

You both read in silence long enough for her to finish her drink. You looked up from Carl Sagan occasionally to peek at her. 

_Why are you staring at her?_

During one of the glances you stole, she looked at you too, with a contented smile. 

She closed her book and sat it down, folded her hands over the cover, and squinted at you. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

Your heart sank, but you looked at her as if you were studying her too, slowly shaking your head. “No, I don’t think so.” 

She nodded, satisfied with your response. “You must have one of those faces.” 

“So I’ve been told.” 

She resumed her book and sipped her empty drink, her straw letting out annoying sucking sounds. 

Somehow it didn’t irritate you as much as you thought it would. 

You felt like you’d pushed your luck enough for one day. You stood and packed up your bag. 

She held out her hand for a shake. “It was nice meeting you; I’m Harleen, by the way.” 

You shook it. “It was nice to meet you, Harleen.”

As you left the coffee shop into the rain, Gothamites scattering into businesses and shops to take cover, you received a call from Bruce. “You were right.” 

_Well, that’s not a phrase you hear from him often._

“His blood tested positive for the toxin.” 

*****

A few days later, there was another murder like Paul Kirby’s. 

Batman was already there as Nightwing, Red Robin, and you arrived. The GCPD placed yellow evidence markers, and the photographer was taking pictures of her dead body. 

The smile across her frozen, lifeless visage created grotesque dimples that nearly touched her ears. The rain dribbled across her face and dress, and her hair matted against the dampened ground. 

You were struck by a feeling of familiarity as if you’ve seen her face before. 

_You know who she looks like._

_“Mom.”_

You felt your jaw clench. 

Commissioner Gordon looked ragged, his normally only-mustachioed face adorned with uneven patches of several days hair growth. He chain-smoked cigarettes, and his white shirt had at least one coffee stain that you could see. 

Linda Palmero. 28. Widowed. Single mother. 

Gordon walked over to your posse of vigilantes. The rain against his skin and clothes made him smell musty and unclean. You couldn’t blame him for not taking care of himself in a time like this. Dealing with the Joker when he emerged was a full-time job for the GCPD. He spoke in hushed tones. “The kid is in the back of the squad car. He… he saw the whole thing.” 

You looked past Gordon’s face and into the back of the car. The boy couldn’t have been older than four. He wore a Superman shirt, soaked to the skin. He shivered, from both cold and trauma, you suspected. 

You imagined him sobbing in the frigid rain, confused as his mother laughed herself to death. The one person who was supposed to take care of him torn away from him so young. Your stomach turned, and bile crept up inside of you. 

You felt flaming anger boil in your gut, your hands trembling. 

That single, family dividing question popped into your mind: 

_How many people have to suffer before the Joker deserved to die?_


	4. Just Like Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support as I write this! I am genuinely having so much fun and I’m glad you’re enjoying it! <3
> 
> Chapter Warnings: None

The next day, you were on Tim and Barbara’s front doorstep. The rain finally let up and revealed a humid and dampened Gotham, clouds still obscuring the sky. 

Your mind kept wandering every which way. You thought about Harley more than you would care to admit. Her flirtations and the random sighting at the coffee shop left you with a feeling of warmth that you couldn’t quite understand. 

And then your mind would flashback to the image of that traumatized kid, and your stomach would twist with guilt and anger. 

Tim insisted that you have some “sibling” time together. In light of the Joker’s return, you felt it was his way to keep you out of your head and doing something positive. 

You rang the doorbell and smoothed out your shirt, appraising the front of their modern, suburban A-frame. Barbara answered the door. “Hey, lady! Come on in.” She wheeled away from the door, and you entered. 

Their home had a distinct coziness that felt the closest you could get to “home.” It was decorated in reds and oranges that reminded you of Autumn. 

Tim had taken you under his tutelage when you joined their family, training with you frequently, offering you guidance, and being the closest thing you had to a brother. 

He was sitting, fingers tented, at their long, maple dining table, a Scrabble board in the middle. 

“Get ready to meet your maker, Robin.” He joked an eyebrow cocked. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, the first genuine laugh you let slip in weeks. Your soul felt an immediate loftiness that you weren’t sure it was capable of in light of recent events. 

“Who won last time?” You sat across from him, reaching into the canvas Scrabble bag blindly and picking your tiles. 

“I mean, I’m not keeping score or anything, but before that you lost the last… six?” 

“Sounds like you’re keeping score. I wouldn’t want to damage your ego by winning too many in a row.” 

“Ouch.” He laughed. 

You laid out “proxy,” giving him a smug glance. 

He laid out “thorax.” 

He broke the game’s silence and shifty glances. “So, I heard about you and Dick.” 

“Did you now?” You sighed. 

“Yeah, what’s up there? Dick didn’t want to talk about it.” 

You laid out “tooth.” 

“I liked him, I really did, but I didn’t feel like I was getting the effort I deserved.” You shrugged. “He was chronically late. Forgetful. He didn’t want to change for the better until the relationship was on the line.” 

He nodded and placed “typed.” 

“You did the right thing.” 

“You think so?” 

“Yeah, if a guy can’t make time for you until there’s the threat of a break-up, he’s not making you a priority.” 

“Then why do I feel so _lost_?” 

“Because there’s a psychopath back in our lives, and things aren’t well. It makes it easier to cling to the familiar.” 

It didn’t help that Harley Quinn would hammer her way into your mind from time to time. 

You sighed, laying out “eroding.” “Your psych degree did come in handy.” You flashed him a smile.

“‘Sure does.” 

Barbara came around the corner and looked at the board. “She’s going to win.” 

****

“Babs, you were right!” You called out. 

“Told you!” She responded. 

Tim frowned. “I got shit letters.” 

“Uh-huh, sure.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Do you guys want Chinese food?” She came into the room, holding a menu for Joy Garden Restaurant. 

_There Harley is again._

“Sure, get me shrimp lo mein.” You requested. 

“Sesame beef for me, please. Thanks, love.” He kissed her forehead. “While we’re waiting for food, do you want to do some training?” 

You nodded. “That sounds nice, actually.” 

****

You changed into training gear, delivering high kicks and punches to the paddle he held. 

Each kick landed with a satisfying _thwack_ , knocking the paddle back. Your hands and feet felt a tingle of pain with each hit, but it felt _good_. “Damn sis, got some frustrations?” 

_Thwack_. A pause for thought. “A dumb question, don’t you think?” 

“You shouldn’t hit with anger. It leaves you open for surprise.” As he said it, he attempted to sweep your leg with a smirk. 

You almost didn’t dodge in time. You sent a confident kick towards the paddle, sending it flying out of Tim’s hand. He watched it slide across the floor, an impressed smile creeping across his lips. 

He could see you weren’t in a good place, and the smile faded. 

“Is it him?” 

“If you mean the Joker, then yes. He’s not Voldemort, you can say his name.” 

“Fair enough.”

You both plopped down on the foam mats of the floor. Your breaths were quickened, and your brow barely became slick. “It’s hard seeing so many people in pain or _dead_ because of him.” 

Tim looked at you with understanding, a small sigh escaping his lips. “We’re going to get him, you know that.” 

“And then what?”

Your words appeared to hit him like gibberish, and he answered with a pause. “We’ll send him off to Arkham. Bruce and I have been working on a program to —“ 

“This has happened too many times, Tim. I can’t keep watching kids get orphaned when he makes it out again.” 

There was a pregnant pause.

Barbara called down to you. “Hey you two, food’s here!” 

His words sounded hesitant. “Let’s go eat, we can talk about this in a bit.” 

You hated that. Pushing off a topic because it’s uncomfortable or inconvenient. 

You sat at the table, picking at your food in the carton with chopsticks. You swirled it around and picked up noodles with the utensils but didn’t take a bite. You glanced at Barbara, and she shot Tim eyes that said: _“What did you do?”_

She stopped eating and reached across the table, touching your arm, giving you a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. You looked up at her and put your chopsticks in the carton, poking out of the top like antennae. 

“You’ve been through a lot, with your parents and your-“

You cut her off, your words sharp. “Do not bring them up.” 

You never talked to anyone about that day. You refused. That day belonged in that tiny wooden box in the back of your mind. 

Your request hit her like venom. She redirected. “I’m just saying that we all have loss because of the Joker. You’re not alone.” 

You felt frustration flare up like hot coals in your heart and gut. “If that’s the case, why is he still alive? What is the point in his existence?” 

Babs and Tim looked at each other but didn’t answer. 

You looked at both of them, disbelief in your eyes. Your voice had an edge. “What is the point in repeating this tradition of sending the Joker into lock-up for a few years, him escaping inexplicably, and beating him up and carting him off again?” 

“We don’t kill.” He knew your implications. Tim’s voice had an edge just as sharp, if not more so. “If we kill, we’re as bad as him.” 

You let out a bitter laugh, your mind and words racing with anger. “How could we ever be as bad as orphaning children, paralyzing people, abusing women, torturing kids? I mean Jesus, Tim, how does killing one man make us monsters when he’s victimized an entire city? Is this just something Bruce fed you so many times that it’s become biblical?” 

“Then, when does it end, huh?” Tim snapped at you, his hands slamming on the table, sending rice and beef toppling. “Do we then kill every criminal who has wronged the city? Why don’t we just off every mugger and creep in this town?” 

“Why can’t we _just kill him_? Only him. For everything he’s done, hasn’t he fucking earned it?” 

Tim narrowed his eyes at you, his lips creeping into a snarl. His words came out downright hateful. “You sound just like Jason.” 

You flinched. 

_Ah, the bastard bat._

Not entirely disowned, but tensions ran high when discussing him. 

“ _Tim_.” Barbara cautioned him. 

You stood up, absently picking up your food with you, and walked toward their door. 

“Is that really so fucking bad?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Leave me a comment and let me know what you think! 
> 
> You can follow me [here](https://stormy-night-stories.tumblr.com) if you would like. I post there occasionally. 
> 
> \- SNS


	5. Reflect and Connect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the wonderful responses I’ve been getting to this story! Also, thank you for your patience! I know I was putting them out really quickly before, but this chapter is a bit longer to make up for it.

You walked, no, more like stomped, out to your car, still holding the Chinese food carton in your hand. 

You looked at the noodles with frustration, not recalling why you held it, got in your car, and plopped the container in your cup holder. You slammed your hand against the steering wheel with a dull thud and a yell. You hit it several more times when you realized it felt good. 

You stopped, then huffed, staring out your windshield, the clouds in the sky were still thick and a gloomy shade of grey. Your car revved to life, and you began to drive to nowhere in particular, the city passing you by. The steam of your anger slowly dissipated. Your fist no longer clenched the wheel. 

You thought about what you said to Tim and your tone. There was so much fury stirring within you at that moment, and you had nowhere to put it. Was it misguided?

You felt justified in how you reacted, and yet there was that lingering twinge of guilt. 

Your phone began to buzz, and the caller ID read “Bruce.” Your mind went to Tim. He must’ve told him about your outburst. 

_ That snitch.  _

You answered it over your Bluetooth, keeping calm. 

“Hey, Bruce, what’s up?” Smooth. 

“I’d really like to talk to you if you’re free.” His tone was reflective. It wasn’t a demand, it was a request. “Could you come to the Manor?”

“Yeah, of course.” There was a lilt of concern lacing your voice. “I’ll be there soon.”

Your mind raced through every possible reason for this visit. Bruce rarely had such a tone with you before. He was the kind of mentor that guided with a stern voice and rarely showed emotion or sensitivity. 

You remembered your first training session with him. 

_ “Focus, Robin.” A demand. He had his hands up, teaching you to defend in unarmed combat.  _

_ Yours were up too, by your face, peeking through your fists at him. You were on the balls of your feet, light and loose. You felt the muscles release as you launched a punch.  _

_ He parried, grabbing your arm with a flourish and twisting it behind you, just uncomfortable enough to make you wince.  _

_ He spoke from behind with deadly clarity into your ear. “If I were a real threat, I would snap your arm like a twig.” He released his grasp and pushed you away. “Again.” _

You practiced with him and the rest of the family twelve to fourteen hours a day for a year before he’d let you go on patrol with him. You ate, slept, and breathed Bruce’s teachings. He was harsh, but you didn’t take this on because you thought this life would be easy. 

You did it because it was the only path you saw for yourself. 

You had known Bruce before you joined the family. Your father worked with him at Wayne Enterprises. He was the Vice President of Research and Development for Wayne Technologies. 

Bruce was a figure in your life from a young age, like an uncle or a godfather. He always seemed to have the wisdom of a man who was much older than him. He was a temple you’d refer to for advice and guidance that you didn’t feel you could get elsewhere. 

When your life crumbled 4 years ago, the world kept spinning. It was a startling realization. You came home after too many funerals to your empty, uncomfortably silent apartment. Bills collected in envelopes on your front patio, not ceasing despite your incredible losses. Dust collected over each surface. Food continued to spoil. You felt like the only one who was frozen in time. 

Bruce pulled you out of that, and for that, you would always be grateful. 

That was the day Bruce offered to take you on as Robin and told you of his secret. 

_ “You’re the Batman?” You laughed, but it was dry and empty. “Wonders never cease.” _

_ “I wouldn’t ask this of you if I didn’t feel you were capable. Your father left me a message in his last will and testament. He wanted me to look after you if something happened.” He said it in that stoic, monotone manner in which he said everything. But there was a glimmer of sadness, of regret in his eye. “He was like my brother, you know.” _

_ Your bitter facade fell, and you saw him for who he was. A man who had lost so much, and was still a monument of hope.  _

_ “I know.”  _

_ That dull roar of silence.  _

_ “If you don’t want this, I’d understand. It’s not a simple existence.” _

_ With everything that had happened, your path was unclear. Muddled by fate and cruelty. This was something you could control, something that would give you some level of power and responsibility back.  _

_ “I’ll do it.” _

You pulled up outside of Wayne Manor, your interior now smelling like oily noodles and cold shrimp. Not that it was terrible. 

You took two bites of the tepid dinner, slurping up noodles with chopsticks, the lo mein nearly tacky in your mouth. 

It was unsatisfying. You looked in your rearview mirror to make sure you looked put together. 

You exited the car, and the smell of food was replaced by the scent of fresh-cut grass, dampened by yesterday’s rain. There was an earthen, ancient aroma in the air that you identified as the dried stone that made up the Wayne ancestral home. 

It wasn’t warm and cozy like Tim and Barbara’s home. It was cold and stoic, like Bruce Wayne himself, but you loved it all the same. 

You walked up the cobblestone path and saw Alfred’s tall frame clipping roses, hunched over with a metal bucket. He was whistling, and you smiled at the striking contrast of the dark, looming mansion and his cheerful tune. He didn’t turn as your footsteps approached. 

_ Alfred.  _

_ You were young, maybe four or five. When your father came to visit Wayne Manor on business or otherwise, you’d beg to go with him.  _

_ You would pull up to Wayne Manor, in awe of its sheer size, looking much bigger through your preschooler’s eyes.  _

_ You explored the house, wanting to get lost. You would dig through closets, imagining Narnia might be waiting on the other side of a moth-eaten suit.  _

_ Alfred would often go exploring with you, offering you bits of wisdom and trivia as you went.  _

_ “Why do you cut the roses, Alfred?”  _

_ “Well, my dear, Master Bruce prefers them in a vase.” He leaned in with a whisper, “But between you and me, I prefer them on the bush.”  _

_ “Why?”  _

_ “Because I think it’s beautiful to watch flowers grow. If you clip them, you’ll never get to see their true potential.”  _

_ On the same visit, you were darting down the path, chasing a grasshopper. It jumped from the cobblestone to the grass, and you lost your footing.  _

_ On to your knees you fell, catching yourself with your hands.  _

_ And you cried, plopping back onto your butt.  _

_ Alfred saw you and walked over, not in a rush. You expected him to take you into his arms and to dote on you while lifting you up. You were confused when he joined you on the ground.  _

_ As tears fell into your roughened hands, tiny pinpricks of blood pooled on them. More tears and confusion surged within you that Alfred wasn’t helping you.  _

_ He wiped away a tear on your cheek. “Miss, I will ask you something I asked Bruce when he was your age: Why do we fall?”  _

_ “Huh?” You asked, and it came out as a small sob.  _

_ “Why do we fall?”  _

_ You were frustrated. “I don’t know.” You grumbled.  _

_ “So that we may learn to pick ourselves up again.” He let the words set in, and then stood, extending a hand to you. “You may not always have someone there to pick you up. Learn to do it yourself.”  _

You snuck up behind him as he clipped roses and wrapped a sudden, warm hug around him. He startled, and you let out a soft laugh. “Alfred, you didn’t hear me coming?” 

He laughed and turned, giving you a proper hug. “Oh no, perhaps I should get my ears checked. How are you, my dear?” 

He pulled away and put one wrinkled, soft hand on your cheek. He smelled like earl grey and turned earth. It was a warm and loving gesture, and you didn’t expect any less from him. What surprised you was a deep yearning tempting you to continue hugging him and to abruptly cry on his shoulder. 

You wanted to spill all your feelings onto Alfred. The break-up, Harley Quinn, Bruce, Tim, the fucking Joker, all of it. 

You wanted to serve it up to him on one of Bruce’s antique silver platters, and have him tell you it would be okay and offer sage advice and understanding. He was good at that. You had learned to pick yourself up so many times, but it was becoming tiresome. 

Instead, you just smiled, closed your eyes, took in this moment, and filed it away for when you needed to feel  _ loved _ . You opened your eyes, his wrinkles deepened with quiet concern. “I’m well, Alfred, thank you.” You willed the rogue glistening tear in your eye to retreat into the tear duct. “How are you?” You asked, your voice switching to a jovial tone. 

“I’m similarly well.” He went towards the towering door. He paused before opening it, and gave you a grave glance. “Master Bruce seems to be a bit out of sorts with the Joker’s return.” He spat out his name like a curse word. “Do your best to ground him, will you?”

“Of course.” You complied.

He let you into the foyer. “You know your way, I’ll leave you to it.” He gave you a small bow as he went with his bucket of roses to the dining room. You stared at the staircases with wonder, the sheer size of the house making you feel so small. 

You walked toward the service elevator, adorned with golden doors. You typed in the code, knowing it by heart and muscle memory, and felt it jolt as it descended into the Batcave. You could hear that familiar sound of Bruce grunting as he trained, punching bags letting out dull raps with each hit. You followed the sound, your feet echoing across the concrete floor. 

He looked tired, his hair disheveled and unkempt. His eyes had dark, purple blotches under them. It startled you. You hadn’t seen him during a Joker return since you joined him, but you hadn’t expected to see him fray so evidently. His muscles tensed then released as he let out one final punch. It sent the punching bag rocketing toward the wall with a muffled thud. 

He turned towards you. 

“Come in.” He said, taking a towel and wiping his forehead. 

“Bruce, are you okay?” 

He dodged the question. 

There was a long pause, punctuated only by the sounds of his breathing. “I wanted to bring you here to talk to you about all of this. Joker’s return has had an effect on me, and I have to imagine it’s had an effect on you too. I’m proud of you for how objective you’ve been and how you’ve been handling this case.”

Your stomach sank. 

He never told you he was proud of you. 

It felt unearned. 

It felt like a lie. 

He continued. “I have every intention of making sure he can’t get out this time. I wanted to assure you that was the case.” 

You felt doubt creep up and mix with the guilt. You felt sick. 

You responded equally as cool. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s difficult for me to watch the effect the Joker has on this city and the people we care about.” 

_ Dead eyes, wide grin, manic laughter.  _

You didn’t let the wince you felt show on your face. “I know. We’re going to make sure he can’t do this to anyone else.” 

You nodded. Suddenly Barbara’s face illuminated the Batcomputer screen. “Batman, we just got word of several murders near Crime Alley. It’s a few blocks from the first two, near Jim’s Scrap Metal. I’m dropping the pin on your maps.” She glanced at you but gave no indication of your conversation earlier. “Be careful, you guys.” 

*** 

You quickly changed and were racing through the city in the Batmobile. Soon, you were in front of “Jolly Jim’s Scrap Metal”. It was littered with car parts, chain link fences, and various building materials. 

Outside the warehouse were scattered cops, looking exasperated and nervous. You both entered the warehouse. 

In the middle of the otherwise empty warehouse were five bodies. 

You felt panic swell within you when you realized that they not only shared the same plastered smile and sightless bulging eyes, but they shared another facial feature. 

Their faces all had various clown markings tattooed into their skin. They looked old, faded by time, the reds and the blues appearing dull. 

“They were his goons.” You sputtered. 

You backed away to get a better view of the scene. They were all facing different directions, appearing to create a pattern. When you looked from a distance, you realized their bodies together formed a smiley face, two corpses making the eyes, and the other three forming a crooked mouth. 

_ Why the goons?  _

You knew you had to see Harley again. 

***

That same night, you were standing outside of the Joy Garden Restaurant, staring up at Harley’s apartment, trying to steal your courage to enter. 

You heard unstable shouting behind you. “Well, if it isn’t the boy kid wonder.” You looked around you briefly before turning to him, realizing he was referring to you. His voice wavered, and you saw he was carrying a paper bag that clearly had some sort of liquor bottle inside. “Where were you when the fucking criminal banks took my house, huh?” 

You didn’t have a response to that. 

You heard Harley call out the window. “Oh Ronnie, leave her alone, will ya?” 

You looked up at her, and the drunken man waved his bottle angrily at her. “Fuck off, Harley! You think you’re so smart with your highfalutin educated ass!” He stumbled back and then turned, continuing to lumber back into the night. 

You leaped onto the lid of a commercial dumpster and onto her window ledge. “Can I come in?”

She looked tickled that you were here. Her voice had a charm to it that made you smile. “Of course, Birdie! Come on in.” 

You slid through her window. Bruce was eating a new bone, seemingly pork. He sat up from it and looked at you, but didn’t growl. 

“What brings you to my humble abode?” She gestured around herself. 

“There have been more murders. Five this time. I need to know what you know.” 

“Nope-y doodles, Birdbrain. You know the deal.”

_ The kiss.  _

You felt a flash fire of frustration within you. You counted back from 5 in your head and exhaled. “Harley, please be reasonable. Some of his henchmen were killed today, for all we know you could be next.”

“I wasn’t no lowly henchman, Birdie.” She lifted her chin as if it was beneath her. 

You crossed your arms. “There are lives on the line, you’re really going to withhold information because I won’t kiss you?” Absurd. Your lips twisted in disbelief. 

A smug smile crept across her lips. “If it’s so important, then you’ll just have to suck it up and do it.” 

You huffed and stepped closer. Your hands went to the sides of Harley’s face. Her eyes widened with surprise, but then her lips formed a sweet smile. 

You were closer now, nearly nose to nose. You never noticed how blue her eyes were, or how she smelled like roses and peach gummies. 

Your cheeks felt warm, and bees were swarming in your gut.

_ Just get it over with.  _

You pulled her in, and your lips collided, and it was like the world went silent except for the knocking of your heart against your ribs. She tangled her pale, painted fingertips into your hair. 

And despite your disdain that she forced you into this kiss, and the fact that she was a criminal and probably a murderer, something felt different about this kiss. 

Something felt right. 

You didn’t like that it felt right. It shouldn’t feel right. 

The bees within your gut became a swarm, and you pulled away. Harley touched her fingers to her lips and let out a giggle.

You felt like you had to catch your breath. You swiped your fingers across your lips and looked at them. Vibrant red lipstick was smeared across them. 

Your voice had less harshness now. “Okay, now can you please tell me what you know?”

“Yeah yeah, sure, sure.”

You showed her each picture. 

_ Paul Kirby  _

“So, I may have dated this guy. I mean he was sweet but oh my god was he bo-ring. A total snooze fest, I mean, come on dude, playing soccer sometimes is not a personality, and neither is wearing Carhartt hats I mean really…”

_ Linda Palmero _

“Okay, so she was a-ma-zing. I met her in college. She was still a little unsure about her sexuality, so we took it real slow, but oh, Birdie. She was a darling. A bit of a pillow princess, but still, I really liked her! She was a party monster, though, and I mean, I can drink but her? Wow. I mean, really throwin’ them back…”

_ The Henchmen _

“See, this is tricky because I can’t really tell who all of them are. This one was definitely Frankie. He was gross. He hit on me a lot and was really fucking handsy. I punched him in the face a couple of times but he never got the memo. That’s George, for sure. He was kind of quiet, liked to write poetry. See, come to think of it, he did write me a poem once. It was mediocre, a shitty haiku, I think. 

Something like:

Harleen Quinzel, girl

You are always on my mind 

Quit clowning with me.

I have a memory for these things, Birdie. 

Oh, yep, that’s Trevor. Fuckin’ Trevor, nobody liked him. I don’t know why Mista J even kept him around. But he had a crush on me, I think. He always whistled at me when I walked by. Which is gross, but at least he kept his hands to himself, the nerve of some guys…”

***

After about an hour of her rambling, you had a definitive connection between them. 

“Harley, It’s pretty clear the common denominator here is you. I think he’s sending a message that if he doesn’t have you, no one else can either.” 

Harley scrunched her nose in disgust. “What a chauvinist pig.” 

You were a little impressed. In the past, you suspected that she’d find the gesture romantic. 

She stood up. “I’m making us cereal.” 

You looked at her, eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you worried? There’s the potential here that he might come after you next.” 

“I mean, maybe a little, but I want cereal.” She pulled out two bowls, both a bit chipped, and filled them with Fruit Loops and whole milk. “You should stay for a bit.” 

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” Your resolve was paper-thin. 

She held both bowls in her hands and beamed at you, her eyes pleading. “Just for the cereal, at least?”

You exhaled and plopped onto her couch. “Just for the cereal.”


	6. Temporary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you all for the love on my last chapter. My apologies for the long wait and the shorter length of this chapter. Life has been crazy, with personal things and world events. 
> 
> I hope you’re all doing well and staying safe. 
> 
> Much love, 
> 
> SNS

You woke up with a start and the smell of smoke. You wiped the fog and the sleep from your eyes, your domino mask still on your face. 

Bruce, the hyena, was staring at you, his head cocked to one side. 

The fire alarm went off, and you heard Harley cursing. “Shit, shit!” 

You stood up and went to her tiny kitchen. One charred pancake sat in a crooked non-stick pan. She tossed it into her sink and opened and shut her cabinet, clearing out the smoke until the alarm shut off. 

“I guess it’ll be cereal again.” She remarked with a sigh and a frown at you. 

“I really shouldn’t have stayed last night.” You replied, ignoring the morning meal. “You didn’t look under my mask, did you?”

“No!” She looked offended that you asked. “Scouts honor.” She held up three fingers. “But you’re here now, so at least have some breakfast.”

“Harley…”

“I insist.” 

You dragged a hand down your face with a groan and plopped down on her couch. You felt the hard, wooden bar supporting the sagging cushions poke into your behind, and you shifted to be more comfortable. 

She grinned, nearly dancing over to the couch next to you, and flipped on Looney Tunes. You both ate in silence, her occasional laughter lighting a small candle of joy within you. She finished her cereal and sat the bowl on the floor, Bruce sauntered over and drank the sweet, fruity milk at the bottom. 

She then stretched with an exaggerated yawn, before laying on her side, her head in your lap. 

You tensed, pausing mid-bite. Harley kept watching cartoons as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She continued to occasionally giggle, the sound vibrating through her into your leg. 

You relaxed and finished eating, holding the chipped bowl, running your thumb across the jagged edges. You prepared yourself mentally for the next words you said. 

“I don’t think you’re safe, Harley.”

She didn’t say anything at first, and turned on her back and looked up at you. “Is anyone ever safe?”

“Well, no. But what I’m saying is I think you, in particular, are in danger. Until we find Joker and take care of him, I don’t think you should go off on your own.”

“Well…” she trailed off, reaching up to play with a strand of your hair. You let her. “Maybe my apartment isn’t safe.”

“Okay.” You replied with caution, knowing she had additional lines of thought about this. 

Her voice was singsong and playful, testing. “Maybe I would be safer at your place?”

Your head fell back against the couch, and you sighed. She wasn’t wrong, your place would be safer, if only because Joker didn’t know where you lived. Your apartment’s security system also offered some additional safety. 

You realized you’d have to keep your mask on, too. While you were starting to trust Harley more, you didn’t think it would be wise to let your guard completely down. 

“It’ll be temporary.” You responded, head still tilted against the couch.

Your words hit her, and she sat up throwing a joyful hug around you, knocking some wind out. “Oh Birdie, really? You’ll let me?” 

You immediately regretted it, but to see her uproarious excitement made that dissipate. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Can Brucie come?” She had her hands together in a pleading manner. 

How could you say no?

“Of course. You’re like a package, right?”

She squealed and wrapped her arms around you, peppering your cheek and forehead with audible kisses. “Birdie this’ll be great, a slumber party! Oh, how fun!” 

“It’s temporary.” You stressed. 

***

At dusk, you snuck into your own apartment, carrying a couple of Harley’s bags, and Bruce’s food. You flipped on the light with your elbow, dropping her bags onto the hardwood floor with an audible thump. 

Harley scrunched her nose. “You live here?”

You suddenly became very self-conscious. “Yeah, why?”

“Where’s the pizazz? The life?”

You shrugged. “It’s just an apartment. I don’t like to get attached.”

She looked at you with incredulity. “Why do you think that is?” 

“Oh, no, no. We’re not doing this psychoanalyzing thing.”

She frowned and huffed. “Fine.” 

“Make yourself at home.” You motioned around.

You got word from Bruce that he was patrolling by himself tonight. It was pretty typical of him during a time like this, but you felt a pang of guilt that you weren’t going with him. What if something were to happen to him? Barbara was just a call away, right? He would be fine. 

You weren’t able to properly reassure yourself. 

Without a word, you went back to your darkened bedroom. You changed into comfortable pants and a tank top. You saw your reflection in the mirror, darkened. It was difficult for you to look in the mirror sometimes because it reminded you 

_ of her.  _

You shook your head, and with it shook away the memory. You plopped on your bed with a sigh. Your mask was still on your face, and you felt a pang of annoyance in your gut, but it was accompanied by warm affection. It was quieter, but there. 

Harley, despite everything, her criminal past, the way she yanked you around with little mind games, was growing on you. You stared at your ceiling, gray in the dark, and contemplated what it all meant. 

In the middle of this contemplation, you saw your door creak open, bars of light illuminating your room, the shifting sound of leggings in the quiet, and a plop onto your bed. Harley wriggled into the crook of your arm and laid her head on your chest.

You stiffened under the weight, the smell of shampoo, and the sweet floral scent of her skin wafting under your nose. She was quiet for a while until she felt you relax. 

She traced little designs into your torso, almost mindlessly. You felt a sense of correctness like this was all how it was supposed to be. If circumstances were different, if the Joker weren’t involved, if you hadn’t lost so much, if you didn’t feel so much damage within you, maybe this would be the way it should be all the time. 

You felt a drop of longing in your chest. You swallowed. 

She finally spoke with a sweetness that made your heart soften. “Birdie, are you okay?” 

Such a simple question, yet so loaded. Something tugged within you, to be honest, to tell the truth. You opened your mouth to speak, and it felt like your words were caught in your throat. You forced them out with an effort that almost made you tired. 

“No.” You managed. 

Her head shifted in a slight nod of understanding. “He… took a lot from me too.” She admitted, still tracing designs into your torso. 

You let her continue, feeling that if you spoke, that would somehow be worse. 

She hesitated. “I wouldn’t ever go back to him, even if he wanted me. I’m not his puppet anymore.” Her voice wasn’t angry, it felt more determined. “He changed me, you know? I wasn’t always like this.”

You continued listening and felt your hand on your stomach creep closer to hers before stopping. 

“I wasn’t even the only Harley Quinn.” You could feel bitterness in her voice. “Yeah, one time I pissed him off so much that he locked me in a fucking closet with the skeletons of other Harleys. Poor girls. They were still wearing the same get-ups as me. How fucking sick is that?” You felt a grimace scrunch your face. She scooted herself closer to you, her hand clenched in a fist. 

“Harley, that’s terrible. I-I’m so sorry.” Your words didn’t feel adequate. 

“I brought him Batman, once. Me, all by myself. He punched me in the face and accused me of trying to upstage him. I begged him for forgiveness after he fucking fractured my cheek. I just… I think I deserve better now.” 

“You do.” You said simply. Your fingers brushed against her knuckles, and she unclenched her fist. Your fingers intertwined. 

She felt calm, but a storm of rage was brewing within you. Why hasn’t Joker been killed? Hasn’t he done enough? 

_ If we kill, we’re as bad as him. _

But that just wasn’t true, was it? 

_ When does it end?  _

Just with him. Only Joker. 

You cleared your throat and spoke, making sure the anger within you wasn’t apparent. “Harley, if someone killed the Joker, would you be okay?” 

She was quiet, contemplating. “I think if anyone deserves it, it’s him.” 

She didn’t speak for herself. You nodded and let go of her hand slowly before standing. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

You knew what you had to do. 

For you, for them, for everyone who suffered by his hand.

You walked, your feet a ghost against the floorboards to your desk that sat in your living room. It was lit by the fluorescent kitchen light that cast a harsh beam across the room. It was a large desk and perfectly tidied, except for the dust across the surface. You couldn’t remember the last time you used it. 

You opened the top drawer, a Post-It still inside it with a phone number. You stared at it as if willing it to give you the answer. 

You pulled out your phone and dialed it, your fingers shaking slightly. Once you heard the dial tone, you knew you couldn’t turn back. You swallowed, and with it was your doubts. 

A gravelly, dark voice on the other end answered. “Yeah.” 

“Jason, it’s me.”


	7. Doing Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! 
> 
> I hope you’re all faring well out there. 
> 
> With social distancing comes more time, so I’ve been writing more. I really appreciated all the love on the last chapter. Thank you for leaving kudos, commenting, and bookmarking. 
> 
> It makes my heart happy. <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

You paced back and forth, your socked feet allowing you to make quick and smooth turns. Harley sat on your couch, staring at you intently. 

“You’re sure about this, Birdie?” 

You nodded and started chewing on your nails, pacing still. 

“Because, and I’m just spit-balling here, but you seem not quite sure.” She commented, crossing her arms. 

“Red Hood and I worked out a plan. You know where his haunts are, so you know where he’s likely to be. It’s all just… new territory. I’ve never... killed before.” 

“Oh yeah. That makes sense, because of B-Man and all.” 

You stopped and turned to her. “I mean, you’ve killed, right?”

“Not really, sort of, I guess?” She shrugged. “Mista-J did most of the killing. I helped, I suppose.” 

You sighed, feeling doubt creep up in you again. You flopped onto your couch. Would killing turn you into some sort of monster? Would you be able to come back from that? 

I mean, Jason has. Right? 

Jason had some demons. His baggage expanded past his killing, though. He literally saw death and crawled back. That would change anyone. You imagined how scared he must’ve been, being beaten horrifically, then having to watch the countdown to his own death on that bomb.

You cringed. 

Your doorbell rang, and it made your heart jump. You didn’t answer it right away, and Harley stared at you. 

“Hey, could you do me a favor?” You asked. 

“Sure, Birdie, anything.” 

“Could you hide out in my room, please? Just for a few minutes.” 

She looked at you with concern and then nodded, skipping off to your room. 

The bell rang again. You hesitantly went to the door, your hand on the handle, giving yourself a steadying breath as your heart raced.

You pulled the door open. 

It was always funny to you how each of the Batfamily men looked the same. Jason could easily pass as Dick or Tim’s brother, and they could all pass as Bruce’s son. 

Jason regarded you with a stern nod. Without warning, you gave him a hug. In the past, you kept your distance from Jason, just as the rest of the Batfamily did. You always felt like it was unfair. You felt a sink of guilt that you just followed along with the rest of them instead of making your own determinations about him. 

He startled, before returning your hug. It felt like a robot trying to mimic what hugging was supposed to feel like. 

“It’s good to see you.” You said, pulling away.

“You too.” He murmured and entered your apartment. He immediately scanned his surroundings, as if calculating each exit, each danger, before turning back to you. “What made you decide to call me?” 

“He’s come back. They wouldn’t want me to bring you into this, but…” You looked away from him, “circumstances have changed. I can’t let the Joker keep ruining lives.”

“You know they’ll never forgive you.” 

He was right, but the words hit you with a startling pain to your heart. “I know.” You couldn’t meet his eyes. “Jason, there’s something I need to tell you.” You swallowed, and your throat clicked. “I have an informant of sorts. Someone who’s helping us find the Joker. He’s difficult to find as I’m sure you know. She’s staying with me right now, for her safety.” _A half-truth._ “It’s Harley Quinn.” 

Jason practically bristled. “Harley Quinn?” His nostrils flared. He stormed past you, knocking into your shoulder. He reached for his side pulling out a pistol. 

You chased after him. “Jason, what the fuck?” 

He was pulling open doors and looking into them, huffing with each entry. Each door creaked with defiance as if they knew Jason wasn’t supposed to open them. 

“Jason, stop!”

He opened the bedroom door and trained his pistol on a lounging Harley Quinn, wearing earbuds. She screamed with shock and scrambled away in the bed, back pressed against the headboard, and tore the earbuds out by the wire. 

You ran in front of the barrel of the gun, and spoke in a calming voice, despite him not moving. You put your hands up in front of you. “Jason, put the gun down, dude.”

“You didn’t tell him?” Harley screeched. 

You sighed, ignoring her question, realizing now that it was a rather blatant oversight. 

“Put the gun down.” You repeated. 

“She’s just as dangerous as him.” His voice was venomous but calm. 

“She’s not. She’s been a victim too.”

He spat out his words as if cursing her. “She’s his mindless pawn. Always will be.”

“Hey, fuck you!” She shouted from behind you. 

“Do you honestly think we can trust the information she gives us? I mean, seriously.”

“I do. I really think we can trust her.” 

“Aw, thanks, Birdie.” Harley cooed. 

“Harley, please.” You scolded lightly, looking over your shoulder. She pretended to zip her mouth shut. 

Jason’s gun didn’t move. “I don’t like it.” 

“Please, I need you to trust me. I think this is the only way. It’ll take a while before Batman figures out where Joker is. I want to see him dead. She wants to help. I can’t do this alone.” You realize how pleading your voice sounded, and you felt desperation sink in your chest. 

He looked between you and Harley, and his gun lowered. He exhaled through his nostrils. His lips were tightened in a hard line. “She puts one toe out of line, and I will not hesitate.” 

He turned and left the room. 

It was quiet, and then relief escaped your lips in a breath. Harley crawled to the edge of the bed and swung her legs off of it. “Talk about unresolved trauma. Sheesh.”

You frowned at her. 

“Alright, yeah, that was mean. Sorry.” She crossed her arms. “To be fair, he just pointed a gun at me.” She stuck out her finger accusingly. 

You ignored that. “Where do you think the Joker is, Harley?”

She closed her eyes and thought for a second. “There’s this empty old warehouse not too far from Amusement Mile.” She shrugged, opening her eyes. “He’s stayed in many places in Gotham, but he always ends up back in that area. It’s his favorite.” She stood. “I’ll take you and Red there. You’ll need to be sneaky.”

“I’ll get ready.” You said quietly. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” 

She looked away and stood. “I told you. If anyone deserves it, it’s him.” She turned back and smiled. “And I’m Harley fucking Quinn. I’ve been through worse than a shitty ex kicking the bucket.”

You smiled back and felt like maybe everything would be okay. If you lost your second family, you’d have something to fall back on. 

She pulled you close to her unexpectedly. You blinked in surprise. “I feel like now is as good a time as any.” She said. “If it wasn’t obvious, I like you, Birdie. Maybe even a lot.” She cleared her throat. “When this is all over, I want to go on a proper date with you. You and I and none of this vigilante, lives-at-stake, mystery bullshit. Can we do that?” 

You bit your lip with thought. You were taken aback and couldn’t answer right away. 

“C’mon Birdie, don’t leave me hanging.” She rolled her eyes. 

“Y-yeah!” You responded. “Yes. I would like that.” 

You’d have something to fall back on. 

You’d have her. Maybe Jason too. And the feeling that you’d done something good, despite how you had to do it. 

****

Later that night, you all went into the city, towards Amusement Mile. 

It rained, the droplets of water pressing your hair against your head and obscuring the horizon in a wet haze. Towering above the small attractions was a dilapidated Ferris wheel that gave off metallic squeaks with each gust of wind. You, Harley, and Jason padded across the wooden bridge that took you closer to the Joker. 

With each step, you felt your heart race faster. Jason walked next to you, and Harley led. His face was obscured by his crimson mask. His voice was modulated when he spoke. 

“Quinn, how far off is the warehouse?” 

She pointed off in the distance with her baseball bat. “Not too far now.” 

You could see it. It was nondescript, a giant warehouse that probably housed 4H Club Best of Show contests and craft fairs. You remembered coming here as a kid and could nearly taste the kettle corn and cotton candy. If you focused hard, you could even feel your sticky fingers and the warm summer sun on your skin. 

And now you were here to commit murder. Your heart sank out of the memories, and into the rainfall. 

He spoke quietly to you, the robotic voice was unnatural and made you feel slightly uneasy. “You’re one hundred percent sure about this, Robin?” 

“Yes.” But in reality, you felt 98.9% sure. 

You stepped into the old, abandoned fairground lit by occasionally flickering street lights. The wind and rain offered the much needed ambient noise to this quiet, broken place. It would feel haunted otherwise. 

Wet, dirty trash littered the cracked ground, dotted with old gum flattened into the asphalt. The torrent sounded melodic, pinging off the empty tin roofs of long emptied food stalls and fair games. 

The warehouse Harley spoke of was closer now. It was boarded, all of the doors covered in plywood nailed into it. You swallowed thickly, and your fists clenched and unclenched nervously. 

You could feel your memories bubbling to the surface, his maniacal laughter never far in the backdrop of your mind. You pushed it down, but it was becoming more and more difficult the closer you got to the Joker’s presumed end. 

You approached the building, and it was like the world went completely silent, the rain shifting to a gentle sprinkle. You pulled out your grappling gun, and Jason pulled out his. 

You nodded at Harley and pulled her to your side. “Hold on tight, okay?” You whispered. 

She nodded and pretended to swoon. “My hero.” 

It was the desperately needed break in the tension, and it made you grin. 

She pressed her baseball bat between her body and yours. The whir of gears sent you and Jason grappling to the roof. 

It was dotted with industrial windows, many broken open with years of neglect. Your footsteps were silent, rolling against the metal to prevent too much noise. 

Jason pressed a button on his mask and peered into each broken window. You did the same, turning on your night vision, Your vision becoming neon green and dark grey. He picked a window in the corner of the warehouse. “This one looks to be the clearest of debris. We can get the jump on him here.”

“Is there anyone down there?” You asked. 

“I don’t detect any movement or bodies down there.” 

You thought that was strange. Joker’s goons were never far behind him. Then again, he did just murder a decent handful of them in the name of Harley’s honor. 

You and Jason clicked your rappelling lines to the edge of the window frame. You looked at each other, mentally preparing for the upcoming events. 

“You ready?” You asked him. 

“It’s now or never.” He responded. 

Harley held onto you, and you entered the hole in the roof, like the opening of a great void. The darkness came fast, and your vision focused. It was empty, aside from some broken boxes and old assembly lines. It didn’t seem like Joker had been here long, if at all. 

You continued slowly rappelling down, the floor coming into focus. You scanned the room and saw nothing but the neon outlines of old equipment you saw from above. The tension in your gut swelled the closer you got to the concrete below. Your feet met the ground with a soft pat, and you could see a small cloud of dust rising from them. 

It was silent, aside from the din of trickling rain on the roof. You peered around and saw no movement or signs of life other than each of your breathing. 

Then you heard it. 

A click and a continuous hiss. You scanned around and yelled for Harley to hit the ground. You couldn’t see the mist yet, but you knew it was coming, you recognized that sound so clearly, gas being released from whatever godforsaken machine the Joker had created. 

The light green tendrils of wispy gas entered your sight and glowed in the night vision. You yelled again for Harley to get down, but she didn’t move. Jason was panicking, you could hear it. You turned to him, his hands covering the mouth of his mask, motioning for a door. You looked up, and the window you came in was no longer visible, the most obscuring it. 

He screamed for you to help him exit, his shoulder repeatedly slamming into the door that wouldn’t budge. You tried to help, your shoulder slamming into it with him in sync. It was solid. 

It was boarded up. And Harley still wasn’t moving, why wasn’t she moving? 

You could feel it. Your heart racing, the edges of your vision clouding, and you could hear it too. Far away was the sound of his shrill, high pitched laugh that would descend into a throaty chuckle. 

You screamed her name again through your hands that were over your nose and mouth. She simply turned to you and watched you struggle. There was worry in her eyes, but she wasn’t moving to you. 

The panic began to set in, the mist, Harley, Jason. All of it closed in on you. 

You were on the floor, but you didn’t remember how you got there. You could see your surroundings shifting, changing.

You saw Jason curled up into a ball on the ground, shaking. You brought him into this. 

_He trusted you._

Your mask was torn off your face, and you could see the outline of his smile like a scythe, impossibly full and gleaming, and the stark purple of his suit. His laugh was closer now, and it felt like it was surrounding you, enveloping you in terror and madness. 

His voice, bright and jovial but undercut with demonic undertones. “A little treat from Dr. Crane, maybe you’ve heard of him?” 

You gasped for clean air, but could only cough and wheeze. Your surroundings shook and trembled. The edges of your vision were beginning to narrow, closing you in, snuffing out the awareness you had left. 

Your heart raced with such ferocity you thought it might burst. Somewhere deep in your subconscious, you could hear screaming, shouting, the crash of windows, and the sounds of panic that were familiar to you. You felt the ground cave beneath you. You were sinking into it, falling through the warehouse floor and into blackness, the Joker’s face fading from your eyes. It was cold, empty. The space between reality and whatever world the fear gas had created for you. 

You could feel you were between your reality and what you tried so hard to keep buried, that thing you locked up in that little wooden container in the back of your mind. It was Pandora’s Box now, the agents within the gas unlatching it and turning it upside down, releasing everything you avoided, everything that made you weak, everything you feared. 

The day that changed everything. 

_No._

The last thing you heard in the dusk of your consciousness, quiet, nearly imperceptible. “I did good, didn’t I, Mista-J?”


	8. All Nightmare Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hello! 
> 
> I’m officially going to be in my house for the next few weeks, because of social distancing, so expect updates pretty quickly! 
> 
> Thank you again for the love, leaving kudos, and commenting. It means a lot. 
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Violence, death, bad stuff. 
> 
> Fair warning in general, the next few chapters are going to explore some darker themes.

They say insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. 

If you have no control over the repetition, and your choices don’t matter, that wasn’t quite insanity, really. 

You thought it might be Hell. 

It was the fifth time you were here. No matter what you did, the outcome was always the same. 

You were sitting at dinner in your father’s favorite restaurant. It was your parent’s 20th anniversary, and the summer sun shined brightly outside. There was laughter, genuine, and warm. And you felt it swell within you, that lovely feeling. 

Your sister’s voice, so much like your own, to the left of you. “To mom and dad.” She held up her glass, and you clinked yours against hers instinctively. You turned to her, and it was like looking in a mirror. 

You were twins, after all. 

Your stomach dropped as realization dawned upon you, and you knew what this all was. The fear causing your vision began to ripple again. Your heart, hammering in your chest, continued to thrum. You remembered the fear gas and the crescent moon of Joker’s smile. 

Your voice was a shaky whisper. “Wait, no, Casey, listen to me, we need to get out of here.” Your wine glass shook in your hand. 

“Whoa, sis, are you okay?” She asked, her hand on your shoulder, it was crooked and deformed, and you jerked away from it. 

“This is all wrong. We need to get out of here now.” You were crying, pleading. You stood, and the patrons around you just continued eating, drinking, like you weren’t there. 

Your surroundings began to shift. In one flash, you saw your family, rotten and decayed, and in another flash, they were as they should be. The sky became an ominous grey, and a crack of thunder echoed above the city. 

“Honey, it’s okay, calm down. We’re all fine. Everything is okay.” Your mom put her hand on your arm. Her face was stretched into a wide grin, like the victims you saw in the last few weeks. The dimples in her cheeks formed grotesque caverns in her skin, and her eyes bulged out of their sockets so far that you felt they might burst. 

You shook your head, and her face returned back to normal. 

“I-I know what happens. I know what happens to all of you. He’s coming, and we have to go!” You slammed your hands on the table, your frustrations bubbling up, knowing what happens next, compelled to prevent it in any way possible.

The door to the restaurant creaked open. The shock of green hair and the maniacal cackling were the first things you noticed, the confusion of the room was second. 

“Run! All of you run!” You screamed. 

Your mother and father, upon Joker’s recognition, darted to the nearest exits, but they were locked. Your father yanked on the door with desperation, but it didn’t budge. Your mother began to scream and cry, beating her fists against the door until you thought they might bruise. 

Joker wandered over to them, a smile creeping ever wider, your father backing up into a wall. Your mother curled her face into his chest. He approached her slowly, deliberately, like a lion to mangled prey. 

“A flower for the lady?” Joker asked, pulling a vibrant flower from his lapel with great care, the sinister smile plastered on his lips. 

Your mother peeked, confused, from your father’s chest. A hiss and she was sprayed with the toxin, wafting up to your father too. She shouted in surprise and it was followed by simultaneous tiny giggles that expanded into uproarious laughter. 

No, no, no, this can’t be happening again. 

You and your twin backed up to the large picture windows that overlooked the city. 

Joker made his way through the room, his goons dropping Joker toxin canisters through the restaurant as people scrambled in disarray, finding no way out. 

The screaming devolved into laughter, canned, pained hysterics. You thought you might go insane. 

You could see the Joker’s head swivel towards you and your twin. He slapped his hands to his cheeks in mock surprise. “Am I seeing double? Hoo-ha-ha-ha!” 

“We have to break the windows.” Your sister called out, grabbing a wooden chair and smashing it through. 

You looked down and watched the glass fall and hit the pavement below. You were high. Too high. But it was the only way you might survive. 

You started to hear the laughter stopped in waves with final wheezes. They were laughing to death. 

“We’ll jump together.” Your sister said, her face was smashed and scraped on one side, and her hips and legs were contorted unnaturally. 

“No, I know how this ends, I know you die.” 

“It’s how it goes, you have to.”

“I can’t. I won’t!”

“You have to!” She screamed, and missing teeth flew from her mouth. 

Before you knew it, you were falling. Your hand clutched hers until the force of air wrenched them apart. 

You hit the dirt, the landing crushed your lungs, your hips broke, and the taste of metal filled your palate. 

Your sister wasn’t so lucky. She hit the concrete. 

You yelled her name, but it came out as a guttural mewl. She couldn’t hear you. You pulled yourself inch by painful inch over to her, seemingly miles away, searing pain radiating through your body like an inferno.

She looked just like you. You supposed that was the worst thing about losing a twin. 

When you lose someone, over time, the mental pictures of them become less clear, their features fuzzier, their face a nondescript blur, and with that, the pain lessens. Their memories fade, and the loss, while always there, stings a little less.

Everytime you looked in a mirror, a reflection in a store window, your image in the water… you saw her.

You did your best to wipe her from your mind, to soothe the pain that losing her brought. It was in vain; the memories were ripped out and scattered. 

And no matter how long it’s been, or how little you tried to think of her, you were reminded of what you lost. 

You woke up in your bed. 

Your domino mask was off, and you were in soft clothes under a comforter. You could see Harley’s blonde hair in the edges of your vision. She was in the crook of your arm, everything was as it was supposed to be, you thought peacefully.

It felt like home. 

Her voice was groggy, and she raised her head to look at you. Those beautiful blues, her makeup wasn’t removed from the night before and was cutely smudged like a raccoon. “Did you have a bad dream, Birdie?” 

“Yeah.” You grumbled. “It was awful.” You dragged a hand down your face. 

You felt a coldness spreading in your gut. You ignored it. 

“Poor Birdie.” She stroked your cheek. 

The coldness in your gut was becoming sharper, more pronounced. 

You felt your stomach, it was sticky and wet. You looked at your fingers, and they were covered in red. 

Harley burst into fits of laughter, her mouth looked as if it were pulled taut at the corners by an invisible string. 

You lifted the covers and saw your stomach covered in stab wounds, the red spreading through your clothing. 

It wasn’t Harley’s sing-songy voice that spoke, but something wicked and dark. “Better to be stabbed in the front than in the back, eh Birdie?” She cackled a feral hyena-like laugh that shook you to your core. 

Fluorescent light and grey began to shift into focus, your back stiff and sore. Your breaths were quick bursts, in and out, your heartbeat was a cacophony in your ear, an exhausted drummer at the end of a song. 

You were slick with cold sweat and went to wipe the dampness from your brow and realized your hands and feet were tied together with zip ties. 

Your eyes finally swam into focus, and you were behind bars in a makeshift jail cell on a cold concrete floor. You were off-balance but managed to scoot toward the cell door. 

You rattled the bars of the door. 

Did you really think that would work? 

You heard shaky breaths behind you and turned. 

It was Jason, curled up on the floor, zip ties similarly on his hands and feet. 

“Fuck.” You breathed. You inched over to him. “Jason, it’s not real.”

You tried to hold his head in your palms, your hands forming a V around his chin, his five-o-clock shadow rough on your hands. You wanted to make him focus on you, but he looked through you. 

“Jason, listen to my voice, you have to look at me, it’s not real.” You repeated, feeling panic rise up in you. You screamed in his face as you shook him. “JASON!” 

Still nothing. You stared at his sightless eyes and fearful face and imagined what terrors he might be subjected to. 

You moved your arms around him and pulled Jason to your body as he continued to tremble. Tears welled up in your eyes. “I’m so sorry.” 

You trusted her, and now you both were going down for your bad judgment. 

It just didn’t make sense. You dig through your old conversations with her, looking for any indication that this might be coming, any misstep you took. 

You couldn’t find anything. Had your affection for Harley really made you so blind? 

Jason began to stir, his breaths coming out in haggard wheezes. “Jason, oh, fuck. Jason, I’m so sorry.” He sat up, shaking as the fear toxins worked their way out of him. 

He didn’t respond to you. Instead, he turned and dug his face in your shoulder, shaking with sobs. “I just kept burning. I couldn’t scream. Bruce… he just stood there and watched me.”

You pulled him close to you and closed your eyes. 

You realized Hell wasn’t reliving the worst moment of your life. It was watching someone you care about relive theirs. 

You both sat in silence as his tears subsided, both of you on edge and unsure of what might come next. You both heard two sets of footsteps approach. 

Harley and Joker came into view, and you glared at her, feeling your lips curl into a snarl. 

How could she? 

She glanced at you and gave no indication that she cared about your vicious look.

You didn’t understand it. Not long before this, she had suggested inklings of a future, she had crawled into the nook of your arm and professed never going back to this psychopath, and here she was aiding him in what you suspected might be your death.

You thought you felt your heart go cold. 

Joker gave one jolly clap of his hands like the host of a sadistic dinner party before speaking. 

“It’s time to play!” 


	9. Fire Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, again. 
> 
> I say this at the beginning of every chapter, but thank you all sincerely for the love and sweet comments you’ve left on my work so far. ❤️
> 
> It means a lot, especially during this bleak world event. It softens the blow a bit. 
> 
> Now onto some imaginary darkness. Somehow that’s easier to digest. For me at least. 
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Violence.

“Leave him alone!” You screeched once more, your voice was cracked and hoarse.

Joker landed one solid kick against Jason’s gut. You wrenched your wrists up and started pulling at your plasticky bonds with your teeth. They didn’t budge. You tried pulling the tail that stuck out, tightening the zip ties until they bit into your wrist, raw skin stinging. You tried jerking your hands apart repeatedly, hoping the tightness would cause it to snap. It didn’t budge.

Jason’s assault went on like this for several minutes now, each hit on Jason made you wince and panic, wondering how much more he could take. 

The Joker bent down, getting at eye level with Jason. One of Joker’s long, pale white fingers pointed to a concrete wall. Against it leaned several metal poles. 

And some crowbars. 

“You see that, Jaybird?” Joker sneered. “I saved those for you special. Just like old times. Aren’t I thoughtful?” 

Jason spat, specks of blood hitting the Joker on the cheek. 

Jason smiled, his teeth pink. “Do your worst.” 

Joker swiped fingers across his cheek and looked at the red on them before laughing angrily. He pulled his leg back and released it, a particularly gnarly kick landing against Jason’s groin. 

He gasped and curled in on himself like a dead spider. 

Harley watched it unfold, her fingers still curled around her baseball bat. You wondered if she would use it on you. You felt a cold tingle across your scalp at the thought. 

You shot her a glance, and she met your eyes once. You thought you saw something there, a glimmer of worry, or something akin to regret. 

You thought then that it was just a trick of the light. 

The Joker landed another kick against Jason’s legs, and he exhaled painfully. 

You couldn’t take it anymore, first the fucking fear gas now this? You had to do something, anything. You dragged Jason into this, you had to get him out. You deserved it, not him. 

Not again. 

“You sick fuck! Take me instead!” You screamed, not quite recognizing your voice. It was like you were outside of your body, primal anger and fear bursting out of you. 

“Robin, no.” Jason pleaded, his voice strangled and weak. 

And the Joker stopped, just short of another jovial kick, turning to you with that sickening smile. The kind that doesn’t quite meet the eyes. Like the smile itself was an entity on its own, and it would jump off of his face and swallow you whole. 

“Normally, I don’t take instruction from women.” He said coolly before his smile widened. “But fine. Just for you. Harley, roll the former boy wonder away, would you doll?” 

“Sure, puddin’.” She said chipperly. She wrapped her arms under his armpits, and pulled Jason away with great effort, he winced as she inadvertently touched his sensitive wounds. 

She plopped him down, aside from the fray with a huff. Joker chided her. “Oh, no, no, no. That won’t do. He needs front row seats. Do I have to do everything?” He rolled his eyes with drama. 

He went over to Jason and angled him so he could see where you would meet your fate as well. 

He was in front of you now, and you were reminded of nature documentaries. He was a lion ready to pounce, and you a helpless gazelle caught with nowhere to run. Jason was behind you next to Harley. 

“I understand you  _ thought _ you had a relationship with my Harley.” He walked circles around you. 

You didn’t answer him. 

He continued, “She belongs to me, you know.”

You didn’t look at him or respond. 

He reared his leg back and launched a kick into your stomach, forcing a jagged breath out like a deployed airbag. You didn’t make a sound. 

“Answer me!” He screamed. 

You spoke quietly, your voice even and without emotion. “Yes, I was seeing her.” You couldn’t say her name. 

You could feel Harley’s eyes on you, but you didn’t look back. 

The Joker cackled a high-pitched screechy sound that made your stomach turn. 

You focused on the room around you. The wind whistled against the building outside, and you couldn’t hear the rain anymore. You wondered if the sky was clear now. 

You were knocked from your mind’s momentary wandering by another kick, this time in the chest, with enough power behind it to force you onto your back. You let out a few deep, rasping coughs, the throbbing pain radiating outwards into your shoulders and back. 

But you didn’t make a sound. 

You didn’t want him to have the satisfaction. 

You looked up at him, and the faintest smile crept across your lips.

“I kissed her.” You said. 

“What did you say?” He leaned over you. 

“I kissed her. She wanted me to, actually. Got real pouty when I said no.” 

“You think that meant something?” He sounded angry, insecure. 

He had to prove himself. 

He picked you up by your hair, and your legs scrambled for some kind of leverage to stand on, tied together awkwardly. He held your face in front of Harley’s, but you refused to look at her. 

He cackled again, his voice was low and deadly. “It was a ploy, a lie, Robbie-poo. Tell her, dear.”

“I lied to you, Birdie.”

You didn’t want to believe it, but hearing her say it out loud tore out any hope you had of her ever being on your side. 

He threw you back onto the floor, your cheek connecting with concrete. You winced. 

A blur of his shoe entered your vision, and it felt like an explosion went off behind your eyes, your head rocked, your brain swimming and dizzy. You could hear Jason writhing and struggling against his bonds, guttural sounds of anger and desperation emanating from him. Your eyes came into focus, and you were facing Jason and Harley. 

You licked your lips and tasted pennies. You still didn’t make a sound. He threw his head back and burst into hysterics; it made your skin crawl. 

“Oh, I love a good challenge.” The Joker clapped. “You’re acting so tough and so brave.”

He walked away from you, the sound of his shoes echoing loudly in the nearly empty warehouse. His fingernails clinked against something metallic, it was a playful sound, like wind chimes. 

Your stomach dropped, and your eyes went wide. 

Jason looked from you to the Joker with growing horror, his wrists bloodied from struggling against the zip ties. 

You mouthed “I’m sorry” to him. 

You heard him mutter “no” repeatedly, his teeth clenched. 

The tap of dress shoes sounded closer now, and you heard the whistle of metal through the air, before the crowbar connected with your side. You bit your lip and curled your legs into your, trying to stifle a scream. You wanted to make yourself small, any futile attempt to protect yourself. The taste of blood overwhelmed your tongue. 

“Just like your predecessor, eh?” He chuckled, before tipping you onto your back with his foot. He leaned over you. “I want you to see me, don’t be shy now.”

He lifted the crowbar over his head, and landed two more hits in succession across your chest and then your knee, your bones snapping like dry kindling. Your screams escaped, no longer under your control. It sounded feral, like wounded prey. 

The pain was infernal, burning, and you thought this would be your end. 

You couldn’t see Jason or Harley anymore, Joker was blocking your view, and his back was to them now, seemingly no longer concerned about Jason’s front-row seat. That was somehow worse. It made you feel more alone.

Tendrils of blackened unconsciousness snaked in, as Joker lifted up his crowbar triumphantly for the killing blow. 

You thought how the Joker’s face would be the last thing you saw and cursed whatever cruel entity set up your fate. 

You heard the sound of something hard against flesh, and a surprised yelp, but you felt nothing. 

Joker’s face was knocked from view and was replaced with Harley’s. You heard two gunshots, and Joker’s pained scream, cascading into laughter. 

She held your forearms still and cut your wrists free with a pocket knife, and your feet. 

You didn’t say anything to her. You managed to make it to your feet, her soft hands steadying you, and a crack of pain shot up from your ankle to your hip, causing you to pitifully whine. The sounds around you were muffled, as if underwater. 

You looked down at the Joker, his knees mangled and bleeding, shot out by Jason, who trained his gun at him, his jaw clenched in anger. The Joker let out a steady stream of manic giggles as he gazed up at you through watery, wide eyes, your ears and eyes coming into focus as rage coursed within you. 

Harley grabbed your wrist and forced one of Jason’s guns into your hand. “If anyone deserves it, it’s him, Birdie.”

You gazed at her, her face scrunched up in guilt. You weren’t sure how the events played out like this, and your mind did not find it to be a priority at the moment. 

You held the firearm to his forehead, between his reptilian eyes, and pressed the barrel into his pale, powdery skin. It felt impossibly heavy, and you weren’t sure if it was your weakness or the weight of his impending doom. 

Your breaths wheezed in and out of your lungs with an effort that made you feel weak and tired. Joker looked up at you, and it felt like he could see through you. See into you. 

It made you feel violated. You pressed the gun harder into his head, furrowing your brow. 

You spoke, but your voice was a shadow of its former self, inhuman and croaking. “Do you remember who I am?”

He stared at you blankly, his mouth widening into that predatory grin. “No. Should I? Did I kill your family, your puppy, or something?” He mocked sympathy. 

Realization widened his eyes, and he tilted his head to the side. His voice dropped darkly. “Oh, yes. Yes, I do remember you. How could I forget? You did a fabulous swan dive from the sixth floor. With your double, was it?” 

He laughed, pressing his own forehead further into the gun, testing you. “Do you have the ability to snuff another’s life out, Robin? Can you take yourself there? Move me into the great beyond? Feed me to the earthworms and the maggots?” It was like he was begging for it, pleading with you. 

His eyes were glassy and dark, it was like staring into the abyss, the void. Your hand shook. The pain seemed more prominent now, an aura of hellfire deep in your bones and veins. It fueled you, hot anger giving you the strength to pull back the hammer with a flurry of clicks. 

“Do it, do it, do it.” The Joker chanted intimately. “Look at you, you’re a natural-born killer.” 

You pressed your pointer finger shakily against the trigger, but the final touch that would fire the bullet into his brain wasn’t there. You willed it to, but something within you held you back. 

Jason gave you a sympathetic glance. 

Your voice was shaky with weakness and pain. “I’ve got it.” You insisted.

There was a long empty pause, your finger shifting from taut to loose, and back again on the trigger. 

“DO IT!” The Joker screamed violently.

A muzzle flash like lightning, a splash of crimson contrasting pale green hair, and the wet sound of a head hitting the concrete. 

The Joker’s reign of terror was no more.


	10. The Art of Dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness. I know this did not come out with the same speed as the others, and I appreciate your patience! 
> 
> It’s been difficult for me to write lately, so I wanted to make sure it was at least mostly up to snuff for you guys.
> 
> The response to this has been truly lovely, and made me decide to keep writing it. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Please leave a comment or kudos if you do. It means a lot.
> 
> No warnings in this chapter that I can think of.

You weren’t quite sure if you’d even pulled the trigger, or if it was Jason. 

At that moment, at least, you didn’t really care. 

The gun fell from your fingers and onto the floor with a shrill clatter. Your ears rang, from pain, and the gunshot that ended the Joker’s life. 

Your head felt heavy, but you looked at Harley, her delicate hands over her mouth in horror at the sight of Joker’s blown-out head, painting the floor in shades of crimson. 

You weren’t sure what events occurred that lead to this moment, or how involved or uninvolved Harley was. But in some strange way she’d saved your life. 

Somehow you didn’t care about the intimate details right now. 

You didn’t know why you were walking away, but you just wanted to leave. Fresh air, the night sky. Your mouth watered at the thought. 

Something deep within you willed you to the exit. Each step you took shot fire up your body. Catching air felt like an excruciating effort to fill your lungs as if drowning while lost at sea. You thought vaguely that you must look like a zombie, all mangled legs and hoarse gasps of unnatural breaths.

You were like a dying cat, trying to hide away before the specter of death came to take you in it’s bony fingers. You saw an exit, off in the distance. It was across from where you and Jason had tried to force your way out before. 

You tried the handle of the reinforced white door with a weak hand, and it opened. 

You thought how ironic that was. All you had to do was leave out the other side, then perhaps none of this would’ve happened. The only thing that stood between you and that alternate reality was the wrong side of the building. 

The chilly Gotham air met your skin like water on hot coals. It seemed to deflate any fight you had left. You heard your name being called distantly, faintly in your ears. Your strength was sapped. 

You felt your body falling backward, before hitting the cold, damp ground in a heap. 

You thought about resting, the exhaustion sinking deep into your marrow. Your breaths ached in your chest, never quite filling your lungs with satisfying air. 

If you were meant to die, the maw of Gotham City’s sky felt like the best way to face your death. It was putting on a show, the celestial bodies bright, and the clouds wispy and feathered against the ebony backdrop. Somehow, it was more defined than you had ever seen it. You thought wistfully that maybe the stars you were seeing were dying far away, and found that to be comforting. 

You heard the tapping of feet and the sounds of struggling steps behind it. 

Harley skidded to a stop, falling to her knees in front of you, blocking the stars from your view, but you didn’t mind. She grabbed your hands. Her blue eyes were wet, blinking away tears at the sight of your battered body. 

“Birdie, hey, hey, look at me!” She looked panicked. “Don’t you close your eyes.” But your lids felt so heavy. “Red, she doesn’t look so good. Where’s Bats?” She called out, harried and worrisome. 

“He’s on his way.” He crumpled awkwardly to your other side, his equally concerned face marred with bruising and cuts. “Are you still with us?” 

They sounded like they were in a tunnel. You willed yourself to speak, trying to force open your jaw and let the two know you were okay. Even if you weren’t sure how true that was. 

You felt yourself slipping away, your eyelids heavy. 

You could no longer see. 

You heard the sounds of fluttering capes somewhere far off. 

You felt peace wash over you, the pain fading away, starting from the crown of your head, and traveling down like slow-moving water over your tired bones. 

There were breaks in the unconsciousness, blurry images darkened on the edges. 

Bruce’s voice, gravelly and even, you could make out: “internal hemorrhaging.” 

Jason’s blurry visage, as broken as you felt. “Stay with us.”

“You gotta save her, Batsy.” Harley’s shrill, pleading voice. 

Tim’s explosive roar of anger. “This is your fucking fault! You dragged her into this! Leave now!”

Harley’s thin voice. “I had to, I tried to-“

“LEAVE!” Tim screams again, and you could detect tears in his voice. 

Her voice was barely a squeak. “I’m sorry, Birdie.” Hesitant steps away from you into the night. 

“We need to get her to the hospital.” Dick’s voice sounded calculated and even. 

Then, silence, as you slipped away into the stillness. 

You waded in the stillness, like a boat on the river Styx. There was nothing in the darkness but your own fading mind, but far away, you saw a stunning, twinkling light, drawing you close. 

You blinked, and the light exploded in your vision, filling it with white, blinding, and oppressive. 

You stood in an aviary. There was nothing but emptiness on the outside, like a blank sheet of paper outside its crystal clear windows. You were surrounded by lush bushes and trees, teeming with chattering birds. 

Robins, to be exact. 

There was a brick path leading to the other side of the structure, and standing at its end was your sister, Casey, like a mirror reflection. However, she was unblemished, unchanged from the day you lost her. 

You felt a harsh jolt, a punch to your chest that nearly toppled you. You held yourself up on a nearby tree and clutched your hand to your heart. The robins in the trees looked at you curiously, their beady eyes trained on you as if you were an anomaly. 

You caught your breath and looked ahead. Casey was in front of you, a sad smile curving her lips. 

“A fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into.” She quipped. 

“You’re telling me.” You murmured, pushing yourself up and steadying your legs. 

There was a comfortable silence as she reached out and touched your cheek reverently, brushing a hair from your eyes. 

“Why did you write me out?” She asked, no hint of anger in her voice. “I saw it, you know, your memories. You plucked me out of every single one of them. Or tried to at least. Why?” 

You sighed, closing your eyes. You were still reeling from Casey’s very presence, and the question felt blunt, like a slap in the face. But you had to answer her. She deserved that much. 

“I just… I can’t stand that I lost you. It hurts too much to remember that.” You looked at your feet, feeling ashamed. 

You lost the person who meant the most to you, and never felt quite whole since. 

She looked at you empathetically. “I get it. You have to feel those things, though. It’s a part of life.” 

Another jolt to your chest, this time sending you to your knees, knocking out a haggard breath. 

“You need to feel it.” She held out a hand and you accepted it, warm and comforting. “Pain, tragedy, all of it. It reminds us that we’re alive. And love reminds us why it’s all worth it.” She shot you a knowing glance as you got to your feet.

You could tell what she was implying, and you responded with incredulity. “I do not love Harley Quinn.”

“Well, no. Maybe not quite love. That comes with time and allowing yourself to feel such a thing. Which… is something you need to work on.”

You laughed a small, bitter sound. “Were you always this wise?”

She thought for a moment. “Compared to you? Yes.”

Another searing pain and you began to feel the rest of it. Your ribs and legs on fire, broken and bruised, your head thrumming with a headache. She reached for your hand again and rubbed her thumb against it. 

You could feel yourself being pulled back, atom by atom back into reality and pain and a world without her. You managed to let out final words to your sister, sputtering out unceremoniously. “I love you, I miss you. I-I don’t want you to go away.”

You heard her as you faded back into the real world, surrounded by fluorescent lighting and sirens. “I love you too. Let yourself live, for fuck’s sake.” 

Electricity erupting into your chest, and a deep, burning breath into your lungs. 

You heard your name, and an EMT’s face came into clarity. “You still with us?” Batman stood next to him, looming like a specter. 

You managed the ghost of a nod and looked at your mentor. “I’m sorry.” 

The tiniest wince crossed his eyes. “Save your energy, Robin.” 

The ambulance ride went by in a blur, the EMT covering your face in an oxygen mask. You faded in and out along the way. 

11 broken bones, a concussion, a collapsed lung, some torn ligaments, and a broken nose. You spent the next couple days sleeplessly resting. Bruce footed the bill, and you were in a room by yourself. The perks of being a Batkid. 

You finally became stable and aware enough after an unremarkable couple days of recovering and a painful resetting of your nose to appreciate visitors. 

Bruce was the first, he came in wearing a suit and tie, his mouth flattened into a severe line that made your stomach flip. Dick followed behind him, looking like father and son. Bruce looked disappointed, and that somehow stung worse than anger. 

Dick looked like a kicked puppy, his eyes darting over your various casts and bandages. You could read the pain in his eyes, and it made you feel guilty. Not only had you almost died, but you also made the people who loved you grieve you as you almost slipped through their fingers. 

Bruce sat next to you. “How are you feeling?” 

“Sore. But fine.” You responded, adjusting your posture with a wince. “Is Jason okay?” 

Bruce sat, his legs spread casually, his hands clasped together. He nodded. “Jason is fine. He was released yesterday.” 

You exhaled. “That’s a relief.” 

It was quiet for a moment, and he spoke in a tone that personified his CEO, business persona. “I wanted you to know I scrubbed your identity from the scene. I worked with Gordon and have been promised anonymity for you. For all intents and purposes, you were never there. It would seem your and Jason’s deed was… beneficial... in the eyes of the GCPD.” He looked away. “They won’t be pursuing criminal charges for you or him.” 

You didn’t respond with anything but a nod. 

He cleared his throat and looked at you, no clear expression on his face. He struggled to spit out his words. “Did you have a relationship with Harley Quinn?” 

Your stomach dropped lower into your toes. 

“It’s complex.” Your voice was a whisper, and it hung in the air for what seemed like forever. 

He stood, no hint of anger in his eyes, just blankness. “We’ll discuss this once you’re well again.” 

“I’m sorry.” You managed, tears in your eyes. Your glance flicked between them. Dick’s eyebrows knitted together sadly. 

Bruce looked at you, and a hint of pity crossed his face. “I know, Robin. Focus on getting well, okay?” 

You cleared your throat and nodded at him. 

He left. 

Dick mumbled to Bruce that he would meet him outside, and he pulled the chair closer to your bed. He reached for your hand, not in a romantic gesture but in concern. In love. 

He ran his finger over your knuckles and spoke. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when you leave the hospital, but know that I’m here for your okay?” 

You knew what he meant. Returning your cape and mask to their glass case was a real possibility that you knew might happen. It stung, but it was not out of the question. 

“If you had died…” Dick cleared his throat. “I just… don’t ever do anything stupid like that again,” he said your name with a severity that made your heart jump. “We… wouldn’t have been okay. Bruce was a mess, we all were.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. His mind was darting every which way and you could see it in his eyes. “Was it worth it?” 

The question left you feeling like a blizzard entered the room. 

“I don’t know.” You said simply. “But I feel better knowing that fewer people will suffer now.” 

He nodded. “Then maybe you did the right thing.” He stood up and kissed you on the forehead, a tiny tinge of pain from the pressure on your skin. 

He left you with your thoughts. 

You watched programming on an ancient tv with local channels only. You nodded in and out of naps, never quite feeling rested. When you considered it with more thought, you weren’t really sorry for what happened to the Joker. 

You were sorry for how it would affect your relationship with the rest of the family. 

Some wounds can never really heal. 

Barbara and Tim came after. Barbara carried a vase of pink roses in her lap and a teddy bear with butterscotch fur. She gave you a smile that revealed nothing of her thoughts. Tim gave you a sullen glance, his eyes darkened by sleepless circles. He gave you a smile, too, though. 

“Hey, killer.” It was meant as a joke, but it stabbed you in the heart. 

“Hey guys. Welcome to my crib.” You responded, gesturing around you grandly. You winced when your IV needle tugged on your arm. 

Tim frowned at your pained expression and sat down in the hospital-issued, cushioned chair. Barbara plopped the large bear onto your lap with a smile. 

Tim’s frown didn’t fade. “It’s… really hard to see you like this.” 

“I’ve had my share of bang-ups, Tim. I’m okay.” You reasoned, a smile tugged at the bandages on your nose. “Won’t be the first or the last time.” 

Tim puffed air from his nostrils, his mouth pulled into a hard line. “You almost died. They had to shock you alive again. If you had…” he stopped his sentence and restarted it, frazzled “why didn’t you tell us?” 

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come right away. “You know the answer to that.” 

“What were you doing with Harley Quinn, sis?” 

Barbara reached over and squeezed his hand in warning. 

“I went where the information took me.” You reasoned. 

“Why didn’t you tell us? We could’ve worked with you.”

“Tim, you know why.” You felt exhaustion wash over you, and you were unsure if it was the pain medication or the conversation. “I couldn’t just let him break out and keep murdering all over again. I did what I had to.” 

His voice was so small, disappointed. “Are you with her? Harley Quinn?” 

Your voice was soft. And you were already tired of this question. “It’s complicated.”

He closed his eyes, looking away from you in some acidic mix of disappointment and grief. 

Barbara spoke now. “Tim, she needs her rest, I don’t think now is the time to talk about this.” 

He wrung his hands and stood. “Get well soon, okay?” 

You nodded. 

And you were left alone with your thoughts once more. 

The sun outside cast a yellow tinge over your fluorescent-lit room, and everything in you desperately wanted to leap out the window and dance over the city. You hated being bound to a hospital bed by the little needle in your arm and the numerous sensors and wires that served as your bonds. You huffed, and then heard a knock on the door.

Peeking in was a massive bouquet of flowers. Orange. So tall that it was obscuring the person behind it. Harley Quinn looked around the side with a smile, warm, creasing her cheeks in just the right way that you noticed she had a hint of dimples. 

Your heart soared, and you let a faint smile creep across your lips. Behind her was Jason, he gave you a skeptical wave. 

Somehow, if only briefly, you forgot how you ended up here. 

“Birdie babe! How ya feeling?” She cooed and danced over to the hot seat where every guest had lingered. 

“I’m doing better. Those for me?” 

Harley laughed. “No, they’re for the other injured chick in this room.”

She sat the flowers on the side table and adjusted a few of them that fell out of place. 

Jason spoke, “You gave us quite the scare.” 

When you looked at him, you couldn’t help but picture him in the crook of your arm, shaking with fear gas. It made your heart sink with guilt. The bruises on his face and body were a grim reminder. They were beginning to yellow on the edges. 

“It’s what we do.” You shrugged and your eye twitched in a wince with the movement. “I hope I don’t sound rude, but what are you two doing here... together?”

Jason glanced at Harley, and she threw an arm onto his shoulder. “We’re like… cool now.” She looked up at him for confirmation, and he shrugged her off of him, her arm falling limp, her smile with it. 

“Something like that.” He said simply. 

Harley wrung her hands like she was desperate to speak, anxiety apparent on her lips. 

“I owe you an explanation, Birdie.” She sat down in the chair by your bed, her hands balled into nervous fists in her lap. 

You bit your lip and nodded. “Continue.”

“I know what it looked like. When we broke in and the gas started flooding in, I knew we were totally fucked. I’ve had an immunity to the gas for a long time, J made sure of that. He didn’t want me to be vulnerable. You’re only as strong as your weakest link, or something.” She waved off the thought. “But I knew I couldn’t take him on alone.”

She looked down. “I panicked. I knew I had to pretend it was intentional. That I dragged you two there as a present. It killed me, Birdie, listening to you yell my name like that. Watching him…” she swallowed, her brows knit together. “I didn’t have an opening until his back was to me.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “I thought it was too late.”

  
  


Seeing her in front of you, her retelling how it happened, brought back a flood of pictures, the crowbar, her eyes on you as you nearly met your maker, Jason’s strained cries. You fought off the wince that threatened to cross your face. 

You were here now. That was something. 

“If you hadn’t done that, we might all be dead.” You shrugged. “Who knows.” 

“Yeah.” She said vaguely, her eyes looking off to the side, a finger swiping away the wetness from her eye. “I’m sorry, though, Birdie. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”

“I’m not mad at you, Harley. It wasn’t your fault.” You moved your hand a little to signal that you wanted hers, and with a contented smile, she obliged. 

Jason spoke now. “The doctor said you’d be good to leave tomorrow, aside from the physical therapy. Maybe it would be good if you had some help getting home.” He looked from Harley to you. 

Her eyes widened with an idea, and her mouth curved into a smile. “Let us stay with you, we’ll work together to get you better!” She volunteered, looking up at Jason expectantly. 

Jason blinked with hesitation. “I-uh. Yeah. I could do that.” 

You looked between the two of them, feeling like you came out of the nightmare that happened to you into some sort of an alternate reality. It was strange but somehow comfortable. 

“If you guys want to, I suppose.” 

Harley clapped and then clutched her hands lovingly. “Then it’s settled. C’mon Jay!” She cooed. She stood and then kissed your cheek. “Tomorrow we’re springing you, Birdie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be a sort of epilogue, and lead into the next “arc” so to speak. 
> 
> After the epilogue I’ll likely be taking a break to plot out where the story is going next. 
> 
> I really appreciate you guys. Your response has been nothing short of amazing. 
> 
> Stay safe out there. 
> 
> <3 
> 
> \- SNS


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! 
> 
> This epilogue's got everything:
> 
> Smut! 
> 
> Drama! 
> 
> Fluff! 
> 
> Just over 4k words! 
> 
> Please enjoy. If you don't care for smut, I've marked the beginning and end with asterisks if you want to skip. 
> 
> Many thanks to Lehane for Beta'ing! <3

**Three Months Later**

  
  


The healing that took place was mental as well as physical. 

Harley and Jason took the most care of you as you healed. The rest of the Batfamily visited and made efforts to assist as much as possible. You and Bruce did not speak about the night the Joker was killed or any consequence of it. You would attempt to wrench out some sort of conversation with him about it, but he always refused to breach the topic. 

You had nightmares of things in both the recent and distant past. Even as you finished your last round of physical therapy, they still plagued your sleep. 

Otherwise, you were nearly back to normal. Your joints snapped and popped when you would move it a certain way, but your body did that before you were almost beaten to death. Who’s to say if that’s normal? 

You were a day out of physical therapy and back to training. You beat a red punching bag in your empty apartment gym, sweat beading on your brow. You were getting winded faster than usual, and it angered you. You were determined to get back up to physical shape before visiting Bruce and having that difficult discussion. You couldn’t be at anything less than one-hundred percent. 

_ Light to moderate exercise _ , your physical therapist insisted. 

You sneered as you defied the advice, and threw another punch, and then a kick, the punching bag swaying with each hit you landed. You felt a sharp pain in your rib cage and grabbed your side with a hiss and a curse. 

“You need to take it easy.” Jason’s gravelly voice called from the doorway, an eyebrow cocked. “If Bruce does take you back, you won’t be any good to him if you’re back in PT.” 

“I hear you.” You waved him off and grabbed your towel, wiping off your forehead, and sitting on the bench. You let go of your side and huffed, indignant that he was right. 

“Uh-huh.” He said, walking over and sitting next to you. He sighed. “You know, you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that you won’t be Robin anymore.” 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “I know.” 

He nodded, and there was a long pause. You looked out the window, the sun setting on the city. You picked at a loose string on your gym shorts and felt that it was somewhat like your state of mind. Holding it together, but one thread could unravel it all. 

“Did I pull the trigger that night?” You looked at him and then down at your hands. 

“Does it matter?” He asked, an edge to his voice. “I mean ultimately it’s the same conclusion, he’s dead, and he should’ve been a long time ago.” 

You tried to remember. You wanted to put yourself there and see if you felt the twitch of your finger and the recoil on your wrist, but it was all a painful blur. 

You gave an affirming hum. 

“You’re still the same person, whether you did it or not. If Bruce makes that a dealbreaker, then he doesn’t deserve your time. It sucks, I’ve been there, but it’s true. Batman isn’t the only thing that defines you, you know?” 

“Thanks, Jason.” You stood up, throwing your towel over your shoulder. “Really… that helps a little.”

He smirked. “Lackluster pep talks are kind of my thing.” 

You chuckled. “I should get back up there.” 

“Later!” He called after you. 

You took the fifteen flights of stairs upwards and smiled when you didn’t get too winded by the time you made it to your door. That was a step. That was a small glimmer of healing you needed to see. 

You decided to rip off the bandaid. You would see Bruce tomorrow. You weren’t at one-hundred percent, but you were close enough. 

You entered your apartment, and Bruce, the hyena, sniffed up at you from his bundle of blankets. He looked like a dragon, hoarding soft things instead of gold. The hyena had stolen more blankets from your bed than you cared to admit, but you found him to be endearing. 

  
  
  


You went over to him and scratched behind his ear, his eyes peacefully glazing over. 

Harley peeked out from the kitchen, pulling earbuds away from her head. “Hey Birdie! Milkshake?” She held up a thick chocolate beverage in a large glass. 

“Tempting. Maybe after my shower. Thanks!” You waltzed off to the bathroom. 

“You didn’t push yourself too hard, did ya?” Harley called after you.

“Noooo, never!” You called back. 

Harley clicked her tongue in disapproval, and you smiled, closing the bathroom door behind you. 

You peeled off your gym clothes, tossing them in the washer. You faced your reflection in the mirror. 

The scars on your body never ceased to take you back. You had them before the Joker battered you, from your first meeting with him. But the ones he gave you this time around were especially prominent. They were bright pink and smooth under your fingertips. You touched each one mindfully, grimacing at how they looked. You leaned in and looked at your nose. Some days you thought that it was crooked from it being broken, and other days you felt like it looked the same. Harley said she didn’t notice a difference. 

It took some time for you to begin to have some semblance of trust for Harley, but it did come. From day one back home, she stayed in your bed, turning over and tracing intricate designs on your spine, like a painter of abstract art. She was patient with you. Even as you woke up screaming, her arms would wrap around you. Her fingers played with your hair until you’d calmed down enough to fall back asleep. She never asked what you saw or tried to pry.

You’d shared intimate moments like that, but there was still a wall there, and you struggled to break it down and open your heart. 

_ Let yourself live, for fuck’s sake.  _

You heard Casey’s voice ring through your mind and froze. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard her. You played with the idea that perhaps you were now haunted, but settled on the narrative that she was just a memory now. A made-up specter that you welcomed, and with it, her voice.

Sometimes it felt chastising, though. 

_ I know, I know.  _

You turned on the water to bathe, rotating it to a near-molten temperature before stepping in.

The water over your scarred skin felt like heaven, washing away all the dirt and sweat and grime, and with it, your suffocating, running thoughts. You washed your hair, the smell of shampoo and conditioner filling the bathroom, and making you feel one step cleaner as you rinsed the suds down the drain. 

You felt a fresh draft of air. 

The shower curtain rings clinked, and you felt a sudden presence with you in the water. 

Your eyes snapped open. “Harley!” You squeaked in surprise. 

***********

She put a firm finger over your lips. 

She was naked, and it dawned on you that you hadn’t seen her naked before. Your cheeks, already pink from the hot water, turned a further shade of crimson. Her skin was adorned with all manner of tattoos, words, pictures, phrases. Her skin was a canvas, and you wanted to trace every one of them with your fingertips. You swallowed nervously at the thought. 

With one hand, she pressed you into the back wall, past the showerhead. The water drenched her hair and face before she was close enough that the water rained over the back of her head. She shook her head with a grin, her hair turning a deeper shade of blonde flat against her face. Over the steam, you could smell the floral-fruity aroma of her skin, and the powder of her makeup. She was nearly nose to nose with you. She reached out of the shower, and brought back the chocolate shake, one red straw peering out from the glass.

You blinked and went to speak again, not sure what you were going to say. 

Harley interrupted. “Shhh. Sip.” 

You complied. It was creamy and smooth, the coldness of the drink made your warm body shiver from the contrast. Harley looked at you with anticipation. You swallowed with a hum of contentedness, nodding. “It’s delicious.” 

“I know, right?” She took another drink herself before sitting it on the built-in shelf, her face a breath away from yours. 

You let your hands glide over her body, the warm water steaming off her skin. You felt desire simmer low within you and were keenly aware of how soft she was. She wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling you in, your lips crashing, and the water dripping around you.

She pulled away briefly and grabbed a washcloth, squeezing a dollop of body wash on it. You suddenly felt very self-conscious. 

She shortened the distance between you and rubbed the warm, suds over your body, starting at your neck. You tensed at first, then relaxed, letting your head lull to the side and rest on the cold tile wall, eyes closed. 

There was something deeply intimate about being washed. The washcloth glided over your body lovingly by Harley’s hand. She guided you to turn around, cleaning your back, the heated touch releasing a sigh from your chest. 

She hung the washcloth on the bar and studied each scar, tracing one delicate finger down each of their lengths. The feeling made you shiver. You felt like you were being picked apart, examined. Somehow, it didn’t bother you. You were letting her take a few bricks from the wall that you’d built.

She turned you around and pulled you into a long, hungry kiss. Your breath hitched as she trailed her fingers down your torso. You trembled, and she gave you a challenging glance. 

You quirked an eyebrow and smirked. 

You took your turn now, tracing kisses along the “rotten” on her jawline. She chuckled breathily and tilted her head up. You obliged, the kisses going down her neck and to her collarbone. You noticed the water beginning to turn cold, uncomfortable goosebumps erupting on your back. 

“Damn that hot water heater,” you hissed.

You kissed her neck once more then turned the shower off and stepped out. Harley looked pouty. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet,” you smiled. 

Harley got out of the shower gleefully after you, grabbing a towel and slinging it around your neck, and pulling you in for a hungry, damp kiss. 

“Birdie, this feels right,” Harley said suddenly, your foreheads touching. “It feels right for you, too, doesn’t it?” 

You swallowed a nervous ball in your throat. “It does.” You wrapped your arms around her, and you melted together into a mess of limbs and wet hair. 

You had her pressed against the bathroom sink, and she inched upwards before sitting on the counter, her pale legs dangling off. You were between them, aware of how warm her core was. 

She pawed at your breasts playfully as your mouths danced, giving a light pinch to your nipples, turning them taut between her fingers. The sensation made you shiver, and she grinned against your mouth. You teased back by nipping her lip, and she surprised you by moaning gently. 

“Did you like that?” You pulled away, her eyes dilated. 

“Mhm.” She responded. “You can bite me in other places too. Not down there, because yikes.” She raised her eyebrows. “But you know, my neck or whatever.”

You pondered the idea. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Don’t be silly. You couldn’t hurt me.” She reached up, holding your face in her hands. “Now bite me.” 

“Bossy,” you quipped. 

You took her advice but started slow. You started at the delicate dip of her collarbone, tracing kisses there, punctuated by light bites. She trembled with each nibble, and this encouraged you.

You reached between her thighs and teased her, your fingers sliding up and down her legs. 

“You’re mean,” she moaned. 

“Well, we can’t have that.” You slid your fingers up, settling between her folds, and traced circles around her clit. Her legs tensed around you with a cry. 

You kept a slow and steady pace, noting how each touch changed the pitch in her voice. You traced kissed to the side of her neck, then your teeth clamped firmly there as a cry of ecstasy escaped her lips. You released and captured the sound on your lips. 

You quickened your speed and applied more pressure with your fingers. You curled your pointer finger into her, and then another finger.

“Yes, fuck, please!” She begged. 

You pumped two fingers in and out, curling them to touch the sensitive spot deep inside, and she wrapped her legs around you as if an errant breeze would take you from her. You could feel her shaking, an orgasm building in her core, as she cursed and blessed you with expletives.

You traced bites of varying intensity up and down her shoulder, inching down to her breast. You took her nipple into your mouth, sucking on the bud, your teeth barely grazing it’s sensitive flesh. The sound that came from her was pornographic, and it encouraged your fingers to quicken its pace, your thumb rubbing her clit as your fingers entered her. 

“Fuck! Birdie!” She whisper-cried. 

You could feel her beginning to peak, her back arching, her head resting against the mirror behind her. Her eyes rolled back, and she suddenly relaxed, as her pussy began to clench, wetness spreading around your fingers. You brushed her drying hair from her face and kissed her, the afterglow running through her. 

She spoke through bated breaths. “I’ve wanted that for a while.” 

***********

She grabbed the towel that was since discarded to the floor and rustled your drying hair with it, the fabric obscuring your vision. 

“Heyy,” you complained.

“Let’s get tacos,” she chirped. 

“Did you work up an appetite, princess?” You pulled the towel away and smirked sarcastically. 

“I am not a pillow princess.” She crossed her arms over her breasts, and you laughed. 

“See, I didn’t say you were. It’s telling that you jumped to that conclusion.” 

You walked past her as she pouted and kissed her cheek. 

~ ~ ~ 

Conveniently, there was a taco joint across the street from your apartment. It was a swanky, hipster dive. There wasn’t a hint of authenticity, but it was delicious, nonetheless. 

You sat across from Harley, and she was dressed in a casual outfit, ripped jeans, crop top with hand-drawn stars on it, hair in a messy bun. She rocked back and forth to a catchy tune over the low-fi speakers. It was mostly empty, aside from a few stragglers drinking margaritas and eating burrito bowls. 

You looked at the menu but weren’t really reading it. You were nervous about visiting Bruce the next day. The idea of being rejected by him because you did something you felt was for the greater good made your stomach sink. It was a sacrifice that you knew you made from the minute you dialed Jason’s number, but it hurt nonetheless. 

Perhaps he would allow you to continue being Robin. But did you even want that now? Is that all you wanted was to be a Batkid forever? Bruce cast a long shadow, and it felt like sometimes it suffocated you. You thought about what else really defined you. 

The Joker killer, Robin, the woman who lost everything, Dick’s ex… you weren’t sure where your relation to Batman ended, and you began. 

“Hey, Earth to Birdie!” Harley jostled you out of thought. A waiter was standing there, looking down at you with concern. 

“I can come back,” the poor waiter smiled. 

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” and you ordered something after a cursory glance. The waiter nodded and thanked you. 

You blinked up at her from your menu. “Sorry, babe,” you sighed. 

“Tortilla chip for your thoughts?” She offered you the vehicle for salsa. You opened your mouth and accepted it. 

“I’m seeing Bruce tomorrow.” 

She frowned. “Well, I think Bruce can suck a big ol-“ 

“Dick, yeah, I know.” 

She shrugged and curled her fingers around her face, her head in her hand. “I was gonna say a bag of dicks.” 

“Same sentiment.” 

“A bag of dicks, depending on size, is at least 3 more dicks to suck. But for real, Birdie, you don’t need him.” 

“I owe a lot to Bruce, Harley,” You reasoned with a huff. “He helped make me who I am, you know?” 

“I know, but to what end? So you can run around with him forever? When do you go off and do things for yourself?”

“I don’t know,” you said simply. “I like being Robin.” 

“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he votes you off Bat Island.” 

“Yeah, maybe it isn’t.” Your voice sounded far away. 

The waiter came back, two plates steaming with faux-Mexican goodness. You ordered a “deconstructed enchilada”, which was just a fancy way of saying an enchilada, but without the work and torn apart. You had to admit that the smear of enchilada sauce was charming, though. You looked down and noticed an ingredient that you didn’t like and picked them off. 

“I’ll take those,” Harley offered, holding her plate out to you. 

You smiled and scraped them onto her dish. 

She held a hard-shelled taco and went in for a large bite. The shell crumbled, the insides of the taco spilling onto her top painting it in reds and confetti of shredded lettuce. She whined with frustration and finished chewing before spitting out expletives. You laughed uproariously, and her annoyance melted into giggles, too. 

“Oh that’s so funny,” she mocked, swiping a finger of enchilada sauce off your plate with a finger and marked your cheek with it. 

You wiped it off and licked it, and she wrinkled her nose. 

“Here, have some of my  _ deconstructed enchilada _ ,” you offered in a posh voice. 

“Oh, don’t mind if I do, m’ lady.” She tipped an imaginary fedora, and you chuckled while cringing. 

~ ~ ~ 

The drive to Bruce’s manor the next morning felt so long it hurt. 

The sky was bright and sunny, uncommon for Gotham. It offered you a light sense of peace and warmth that made this conversation seem less pressing. Even after you parked in his driveway, you waited outside, leaning against your car with your eyes closed. 

Today could shape the rest of your life, change your path, alter your destiny. There were too many days like that for your liking. 

You heard footsteps faintly and opened your eyes. Alfred was approaching, and you felt your lips curve into a smile. 

“Hello, my dear.” He bowed his head. 

You went up to him and wrapped your arms around his lean yet muscular frame. 

“Hi Alfred, it’s good to see you.” 

He appraised you. “You look well, your recovery must have been a success.” 

“Yeah, you know me. Takes a beating but keeps on swinging.” 

“My brave, tough girl.” He put a warm hand on your cheek, and you realized that this would be what you missed if you weren’t Robin anymore. 

Moments like these. The rare, yet crucial moments when you would connect with Alfred, or Bruce, or Tim. Any of them. That would be what you would miss most. If you weren’t Robin, you knew your visits would decrease, and there would always be a wall that separated you from them. It made your heart ache. 

“You’ve got to learn to pull yourself up again, you taught me that.” 

“You and your sister, I remember. You both had perpetually scraped knees and elbows. Every time I saw you, you were worse for wear, my goodness.” He laughed and shook his head. “You picked yourselves up, though, every time.” His mouth formed a sad, thoughtful smile, defining the wrinkles around his eyes. 

You felt a pang of hurt when he mentioned Casey, but it didn’t anger you. You didn’t want to shut him down or shove her away like you did so many times before that. You just nodded. 

You swallowed. “It sounds crazy, but I think I saw her, Alfred.” 

He blinked at you. “Your sister? Oh, I don’t doubt it. You know, they never really leave us, the people we love. My wife died some time ago, long before you were even born. She still visits me at night, in my dreams. Or sometimes just a word or meaningful phrase at just the right time. They linger, whether they’re spirits or just our overactive imaginings, I can’t say for sure. Many would give their left arm to be visited by those who are lost. No, you are not crazy, dear girl. You’re blessed.”

You kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Alfred.” 

“You’re most welcome.” 

You walked past the roses you’d watched him meticulously prune, and into the manor. 

When you entered the Batcave, Bruce wasn’t training or typing away manically, or anything you’d consider to be productive. He sat at his desk, the numerous monitors dimmed and inactive. He sipped scotch, and you could smell it emanating from him in a cloud.

It was a strange and jarring sight, and you knew then what the verdict was.

He used your real name, and it gave you a pang in your gut, like a schoolchild being called on in the middle of class. “I’m glad you’re here. You’re looking well.”

“Thanks, I’m feeling a lot better.” 

There was an empty pause, punctuated by Bruce sipping his drink with the click of his tongue. 

Anxiety prompted you to speak again. “I don’t want to drag this out any longer than we have to. I want to go on patrol again. I’m ready, I’ve finished my PT, and I want to get back out there.”

Another sip. “What you did was irresponsible,” Bruce said, no edge or emotion to his voice. It unnerved you how easy it was for him to detach like that. “You had no clear plan, you brought in Harley Quinn of all people, and the cherry on top, you put yourself and Jason in danger.”

“I know.” You looked down. 

“Do you feel any remorse for what you did?” His voice was no longer edgeless, it was like broken glass, clear and jagged. 

You thought before speaking. “I regret putting Jason in danger.” 

Bruce chuckled darkly. “Such a diplomatic answer.” 

“What do you want me to say?” You asked, anger flaring. “I don’t regret killing the Joker. I don’t even know if I did kill him! It was a little hard to see through my shattered skull.” 

He flinched, his jaw set tight with anger. “You could’ve died.” He released the tension, and he suddenly looked tired, the age apparent on his skin and around his eyes. “I promised your father, when you were small, that I would watch over you and Casey if anything happened to your parents. I didn’t make that promise lightly,” he spoke your name. “I felt that you being Robin was the best way to keep you near, give you a sense of control, and keep you on a good path.” 

“Keep me on a good path? I’m not a troubled youth, Bruce.” 

“You were going to drink yourself to death.” 

You couldn’t really deny that. “So, now that I’ve disobeyed you, you’re firing me or something?” 

His voice raised, his scotch glass slamming down. “It’s not about disobedience! You killed a man!” 

“I killed a monster!” You fired back, a shaky finger pointed at him. 

He exhaled his anger through his nose. “I need to reassess your status as Robin.” 

You smirked with acidity. “It’s that easy to fall out of your good graces, is it? Kill a terrorist, give this city some semblance of peace, and suddenly, poof. All of that training, your guidance, that title I fucking earned is revocable.”

He looked hurt, like you’d taken a knife, drove it in, and twisted it. 

You turned around. “You know what? I don’t want it anymore. Give it to some other hapless, lost soul.” You left without saying goodbye.

He called after you, but you kept going. Your vision began to swim with tears. You felt like you were losing your family all over again, but rage kept you walking towards the door. The manor never felt so empty. 

~ ~ ~ 

Tears streamed down your face as you recounted the story, wine in your hand. Jason and Harley stared at you expectantly.

Harley spoke first. “What are you going to do now?” 

You laugh-cried. “That’s the big question isn’t it? I have no fucking clue. Patrol on my own? Take up knitting?” 

She sat next to you on the plush cushion of the couch. “I have an idea. So, before I met you, I ran with this really badass group of chicks...”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your love and support. It truly means the world. 
> 
> I am going to break from adding on to this until I'm feeling more up to it. I might deviate to some other fics in the meantime, but I intend to come back and add some more on. <3 
> 
> I hope you're all doing well, and are safe and healthy. 
> 
> Much love, 
> 
> SNS


End file.
